


Sanctuary

by jawsandbones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, come for the smut stay for the relationship built on support trust and friendship, just a whole lotta love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: Sebastian sees both Hawke and Fenris break after their one night spent together. He helps them put the pieces of their life back together.Her head turns twice when she sees him, as though she cannot believe her eyes. Hawke leaves Sebastian, Aveline and Merrill standing by the gates of Hightown, turning back to walk to Fenris. The three of them watch from afar as Fenris rubs the back of his neck, stares pointedly at his feet as he speaks. The tender way Hawke’s fingertips touch his cheeks, direct his gaze upwards. She gently reminds him that he is an equal and that he never has to lower his gaze to anyone anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

He’s never seen Hawke looking so plain. An older tunic, pants thrice patched with fabric of a brighter quality. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ears, scans the Chantry as though every corner holds enemies. She plays with the bottom of her tunic as she makes her way up the stairs. Fingertips light on the banister, eyes focused on taking step after step. She lacks her usual kohl, the stain on her lips. She lacks her usual cheer. She sits down beside Sebastian, her hands fiddling together in her lap. There’s no hair to tuck this time but she goes through the motions anyway, pausing to pinch a lock between her fingers. She looks at him with red-rimmed eyes.

He smiles, closes his book. “Hello Hawke,” he says, “What can I do for you?” The Chantry is quiet save for the hum of the sisters, the murmuring of prayer. It smells of incense and lilacs, something soft and comforting. Candles cast their glow upon the walls, try to outshine the sun. None of this seems to touch Hawke today. Not that she was ever a present figure in the Chantry. She would always only come on some errand, quick feet against the floor, out the door again.

“I was wondering,” Her words are hesitant, tone quiet, “if I could ask a favor of you?” Her eyes flutter between her fingers rolling the threads that escape her tunic, and his face. He resists the urge to reach out and place his hand over hers, to still the nervousness that knits, to offer what calm he can. Instead, he keeps a tight hold on the book in his lap.

“Of course. You only have to ask.” Her smile is brief, but the relief is shown in other ways. He sees it in the way the hard line of her shoulders relax, hunch. The way she moves slightly closer to him. The way her eyes begin to linger on his face, able to find the strength to stay.

“I was wondering if you might check on Fenris for me? Keep him company? Perhaps bring him food as well. I can give you coin,” she blurts it out quickly, keeping her hushed tones, not wanting the attention her full voice could bring. “If it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” He smiles at her again. “If I might inquire,” he says gently, “why are you asking? It is no secret you are the one he feels closest to.” She flinches as though he has struck her. This time, when her fingers begin to tear at the threads, he does not keep his hold around the book. He reaches out, takes one of her hands in his own. It’s cold, clammy, shaking underneath his touch. She stares at the back of his hand, bites her bottom lip.

He allows her the minutes she needs to collect herself, to find the words. “I might have done something awful,” she whispers, “I think he hates me now.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Sebastian tells her. “Whatever it is you think you’ve done, I know Fenris will forgive you.” She gives him a smile that isn’t really a smile, a sad ghost of thing.

“I wish I could believe that.” Her hand slips from his as she rises, pausing only to pull coin from her pocket. “For the food,” she says, holding it out to him. He shakes his head, standing with her.

“Not necessary. I require only one thing in return. Let me come see you afterwards,” he says. She holds her fist to her chest, nods slowly. He watches her go and sighs, picking up his book, holding it in his hands. He taps it against the pew thoughtfully, sees raven-hair disappear through the doors of the Chantry, out into the sunshine.

He places the book back on the shelf, sliding it into its proper place. It’s not a book bought by the Chantry, but one he brought himself. It’s different than the rest - a spark, a bit of life, brought to the endless shelves of dour Chantry law and history. He taps his finger against it, shakes his head and turns, heading for the same door Hawke had left.

He buys things that require no cooking, more than two men could eat in one sitting. After a moment of thought, he buys a bottle of wine as well. A Starkhaven vintage. Something familiar, the taste of which he has long since forgotten. Starkhaven was something difficult to think about. He hated the way his chest grew tighter with the thought of returning home. He had been away so long. He moves up the steps of Hightown, taking a familiar path to Fenris’s mansion.

He knocks with the hand holding the wine bottle. Three taps of his knuckles against wood, ones he knows Fenris will hear. A light sleeper, he’s woken the elf with less before. Sure enough, the door opens, and there stands Fenris. His hair disheveled, white strands licking this way and that. There are dark circles under his eyes as though he hasn’t slept, his ears drooped with melancholy. His tunic is half undone, a sleeve slipping off one shoulder. His pants barely hang around his waist, and he is barefoot although that is not unusual. In one hand hangs an already half-emptied bottle of wine. Sebastian feels sudden regret at showing up at his door with another.

He seems disappointed to see him, as though Fenris had expected someone else. The corners of his mouth drop just so as he looks at Sebastian. “What?” He asks it curtly, quickly, his voice hoarse with lack of use. Sebastian shakes off his doubts, pushes his way inside. It is dark, as usual, but Fenris generally has the fire lit. Not today. He makes his way up the stairs, clears room on the table for the basket of food and the wine.

Sebastian kneels before the fireplace, throwing wood upon cold ashes. Fenris mills about behind him as he sparks the fire. It brings more light than the few holes in his roof could. Fenris looks through the basket, and finding nothing of interest, moves to sit upon his bed. He rests the bottle by his feet, rubs a hand over his mouth. “What do you want?” Fenris directs this question at the floor, before planting his elbows on his knees, looking at Sebastian.

He pulls forward one of the boxes nearby, takes a seat. “I was asked to check on you,” he says, “by Hawke.” A flinch that looks the same as Hawke’s had. Fenris falls backwards on the bed, feet still planted on the floor, hair splaying outwards. He presses his hands against his eyes, bites the words out.

“I left her,” he says, “together, we… we had – so much – and I _left_.” His hands fall to his sides, staring up at the ruined ceiling. “She deserves better.” He speaks these words with utter calm, a resignation to the belief. It’s clear to see exactly how wrong Hawke’s assumption is. He doesn’t hate her, not in the least. Sebastian quirks a quick smile at the thought of these two ridiculous friends of his.

“Have you spoken to her since?” Sebastian asks it lightly, looking at the hole in Fenris’s pants. Directly on his knee, he can three little dots of lyrium in a triangle on smooth olive skin. He makes a mental note to buy Fenris some new clothes. Perhaps he should also bring a broom, as Sebastian eyes the shards of broken glass against the wall. His thoughts trail off as Fenris finally speaks.

“No.” Fenris grunts out the word, his hands clenching into fists.

“How long has it been since you have?”

“Does it matter?” Fenris snaps, sitting back up, frowning at Sebastian. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before. That new red around his wrist, a ribbon bound like a shackle. Fenris’s other hand plays with it, holds tight to it as though he cannot bear to let it go.

“She believes you hate her.” Sebastian says the words earnestly, keeping his eyes on Fenris’s face. He watches it fall, the guilt that flashes through him. He runs a hand through his hair, brushing away that snowfall, and his eyes fix upon the floor.

“No. I could never,” Fenris says it so quietly, as if it hurts him to say the words. “I wanted her to hate _me_ , so that she could move on, find someone else.”

“She doesn’t want anyone else, Fenris,” Sebastian tells him. That flinch again, that guilt, clenching his teeth and shaking his head, unable to look at Sebastian. He reaches for the bottle at his feet, but Sebastian gets there first, placing it out of his reach.

“No more of that,” he says, rising and placing it with the wine he brought. He’d take both when he left. He instead roots through the basket, finds a pastry, passes it to Fenris. “Eat.” He holds it in his hands, staring at it, before giving into Sebastian’s command. He takes a tearing bite, devouring it with the hunger of a wolf.

“Now,” Sebastian says, sitting on the bed beside him, “we’re going to talk about how to properly hold a bow.” Fenris looks at him, once, twice, glancing at him in disbelief. He falls into silence however as Sebastian begins to speak, allowing himself to drift away from all thoughts of Hawke. They end up with their feet on the bed, their backs against the wall, talking side by side about everything and nothing at all. Fenris leans his head back, his hands in his lap, quietly listening to Sebastian speak. When he does speak, he speaks low and carefully, but Sebastian listens to each one of his words as though they were priceless treasure. Attentive and focused, a small smile on his face.

When Sebastian moves to leave, hours later, Fenris stops him at the door, the barest of touches against Sebastian’s back. “Thank you,” he says, “for this.” Sebastian stops, breathes out deeply, gives him a warm smile. He carries Fenris’s bottle in one hand, the Starkhaven vintage in the other. He holds to them tightly, resists the urge to swallow Fenris in a deep hug.

“You know I am here for you, my friend,” Sebastian says. Fenris looks almost surprised for a moment, then his face falls back into neutrality and he nods. He gives Sebastian another quiet thank you. “You should speak to her when you feel you are able.” Fenris frowns, plays with that red on his wrist.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I will.”

Sebastian leaves him thoughtful, likely preparing what he should say to Hawke. He’s relieved when Hawke opens the door with a smile, eyes bright and clear. He presses the half-empty of bottle of wine into her hands. She looks at it, amused, then shakes her head and steps aside to invite Sebastian end. “Is he well, at least?” She asks, leading Sebastian to the living room. She stares at the bottle for a moment, takes a sip, and then puts it on the mantle of the fireplace.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Sebastian tells her. “Quite the opposite.” They sit together, side by side, on the couch, Hawke thoughtful and relaxed as she clutches a pillow.

“I’m not – I don’t think he…” her words trail off into a frown and a sigh, biting at the skin around her thumb. Sebastian places a gentle hand over her knee and smiles.

“Have faith. I have reason to believe he’ll come speak to you soon.”

“Thank you, Sebastian, for everything,” she says ever so softly. She pulls her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on a knee, fingers pressing at the tops of bare feet.

* * *

Her head turns twice when she sees him, as though she cannot believe her eyes. Hawke leaves Sebastian, Aveline and Merrill standing by the gates of Hightown, turning back to walk to Fenris. The three of them watch from afar as Fenris rubs the back of his neck, stares pointedly at his feet as he speaks. The tender way Hawke’s fingertips touch his cheeks, direct his gaze upwards. She gently reminds him that he is an equal and that he never has to lower his gaze to anyone anymore.

She’s speaking back to him, saying words with a smile that make him frown. Eventually he nods, and her hands fall back to her side. There’s a moment of hesitation before she leans forward, hands brushing against his shoulders. She stands on her toes, and her face is suddenly hidden behind his. She plants a small kiss to his cheek before she pulls away. She leaves him standing there, a hand slowly reaching for his cheek. He watches her go with a type of hopelessness, all his emotion laid bare to her back.

Aveline makes a sigh at the sight of it, while Merrill coos. They collect themselves as Hawke returns to them, makes no mention of the intimate moment they have had the privilege of witnessing. Sebastian can only smile, greet Hawke cordially when she returns to them. “All is well?” He asks.

“It will be,” she answers. She seems happy enough as they make their way to the Wounded Coast, in search of a Qunari patrol which has gone missing. It’s easy to see how much it weighs, the growing responsibility placed upon Hawke’s shoulders. She bears it gracefully, does not utter one word of complaint. Her first concern is always for the safety of her friends and family, and it’s something he finds so beautiful about her.

She rubs her brows when they find the patrol, and the abomination which has slain them. They make short work of him. Aveline leads the charge against the demon and his shades, and Sebastian lets fly his arrows. Hawke and Merrill work their magic together, weaving protection around the others, unleashing destruction upon their enemies.

They build a camp against the cliffs, watching the moon rise and the run set. The fire burns with a flick of Hawke’s hand, and Aveline is pulling food from her pack, passing it around. Hawke prefers no tent, loves to sleep under the stars and the sky. When Merrill and Aveline clamber off to bed, Hawke is sitting on the edge of the cliff, her feet dangling over. Sebastian takes a seat beside her.

“He told me, after we had… He remembered things, his life before. And then poof… all gone. I understand why he left, why he can’t be _with_ me, I really do,” Hawke says. “I want to help him, but he won’t let me.” Water spills against the rocks below, the last few gulls cry out as they fly overhead. Wind rustles through the long grass, chasing sand across the shore. It smells of salt and smoke, and everything is so bright from the fullness of the moon. “Maker, I just want him to be happy. Find some peace.”

“I know.”

“I love him,” she says, shoulders hunching over, pressing her hands against her face. Sebastian slips an arm over her shoulders.

“I know.” Water continues to rush against rock. Something howls in the distance. Crickets sing from hidden corners. The world continues to spin but they sit still, taking in as much silence as there is.

They trudge back to Kirkwall after eating lunch, and it takes them most of the day to return. Merrill is distracted by every unique butterfly, every snapped branch. Hawke is happy to allow her her fancies, watching over the elf with a smile on her face. Aveline is less than patient, ready to return to the barracks. “Oh, you need to come to my estate first,” Hawke says, “My mother baked something for you all. She’d be cross with me if you didn’t get it.”

They wait patiently in the foyer, listening to the voices that rise in volume. Gamlen is shouting something, storming past them, slamming the door behind him. Hawke comes out next, clutching her staff in her hands. “My mother is missing,” she tells them. All of Aveline’s eagerness to return to the barracks dissipates immediately. She is instantly at Hawke’s command, following her to Lowtown. Merrill is the same, less stoic than Aveline, feeling the same panic and worry that Hawke is showing.

“More blood,” Hawke says, breaking into a run, following the trail all the way to a foundry. “Mother must be here somewhere. We need to look around.” They break off immediately, searching the place from top to bottom.

“Hawke,” Sebastian calls out, moving a bag from a trapdoor. Hawke is by his side instantly, opening the trapdoor and jumping down without any hesitation. All they can do is follow her as she rushes forward, try to protect her as best they can as they fight through demon and shade.

“That portrait…” Hawke says, walking past scattered page and parchment. Sebastian picks up one of them, eyes scanning the page. Books on necromancy, on forbidden magic. The feeling of dread grows in his chest.

“That woman looks like Leandra, doesn’t she?” Aveline says, sword still in her hands. Hawke turns without a word, heading further down into the tunnels. She rounds corners, runs down stairs, turns a corner and stops in her tracks. Her next steps are slow and careful, every line of her stiff and suspicious. Sebastian keeps an arrow notched, ready to fly. They approach a grey-haired man, wearing tattered robes and carrying a twisted staff.

“I was wondering when you’d show up. Leandra was so sure you’d come for her.” Every word oozes slime and dirt. He reeks of blood and something fouler, the corruption clear in the air about him. Sebastian raises his bow a little higher, Hawke keeps her staff light in her hands.

“Where is she?” A curling smile crosses the maleficar’s face.

“You will never understand my purpose. Your mother was chosen because she was special, and now she is part of something… greater.” Part of Sebastian hopes she isn’t here, that Leandra is simply _gone_. Hawke is stepping forward, even closer.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she says, always so optimistic, too kind. “Release my mother, and we’ll go.”

“She’s here. She’s waiting for you.” That knot in Sebastian’s chest binds even further. “I have done the impossible. I have touched the face of the Maker and lived. Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is? Love.” He feels the dread bottom out when a veiled woman rises, wearing a tattered wedding dress. “I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers… and at last, her face… oh, this beautiful face.” The maleficar pulls back the failed, reveals the stricken face of Leandra.

“I’ve searched far and wide to find you again, beloved, and no force on this earth will part us,” he says, spreading his arms wide, pulling at every bit of foul air, bringing forth shades a plenty. Hawke does not move, her eyes locked on Leandra, stricken to her core. Aveline forces her way in front of Hawke, shield up and sword out, while Sebastian and Merrill close in.

Hawke wakes with a type of horrified fury, her magic pounding like drums of war. It’s too much, it’s not enough. She catches her mother in her arms after the maleficar dies, and they fall to the floor together. Hawke is cradling Leandra so gently, so lovingly, brushing wisps of grey hair away from her face. “I knew you would come,” Leandra says and for some reason, Sebastian finds those words so utterly cruel. Yes, she had come, but she had come too late.

Aveline pulls Sebastian and Merrill away, allows Hawke to say her farewells in private. “I’ll need to fetch the guard. Have some of my people take the… take the body,” Aveline says. She turns to Sebastian, “can you take her home?” He nods instantly.

“What should I do?” Merrill asks in a whisper.

“Find Fenris,” Sebastian tells her.

It takes long minutes to pull Hawke away from her mother. Sebastian kneels down beside her, wrapping an arm around her, helping her to her feet. She’s mutely quiet, the tears rolling silently, and she does not say a word as Sebastian leads her away. She clings to him, her fingers around his breastplate, wedging herself as close to him as she possibly can. Sebastian holds her just as tightly, knowing grief would need the hardest touch to be banished.

Sebastian speaks to Bodahn while Hawke changes out of blood-stained armor. When he enters Hawke’s room once again, he does so with a tray of sweet pastries and a warm drink. He kneels down before Hawke as she sits on the edge of the bed, presses the warm cup into her hands. She cradles it carefully, her eyes on the dark swirling liquid, and the steam that rises from it. “What can I do?” Sebastian asks, putting a hand on her arm, rubbing small circles with his thumb against her skin. She squeezes her eyes closed, and when she opens them, she finally looks at him.

“Please, just stay.” He nods, takes a seat beside her. She places the cup upon her nightstand, reaches for a pastry. She splits it, passes him one half. They eat in silence, Hawke moving closer to him, leaning against him, resting her head upon his shoulder. They watch the fire burn and crackle, wood shifting as it’s eaten away by flame. Ashes fall to the bottom, grey and lifeless, all that remains of a life that had once burned so brightly.

Hawke sits up straight with a sudden start as the door to her bedroom swings open. Fenris stands there, one hand still upon the door, breathing heavily with sweat on his brow. His hair is messy and windblown, and it is clear that he had run with all his might having heard she was in need. He takes a deep breath, collects himself before he speaks. “You have… Sebastian. I can leave,” he begins to make the motions to turn but Hawke is on her feet.

“No! No. Please. Fenris,” she pleads, stretching out her hand towards him. He stares at it blankly for only a moment, before reading out and taking it. She leads him to the bed, makes him sit. She leans back into Sebastian, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. They flank her on either side, Hawke’s hand still wound in Fenris’s.

“Thank you,” she says, “both of you. For being here. With me.” Fenris says nothing, simply holds her hand a little harder. Hawke has her eyes closed, and Sebastian turns to look at Fenris. Fenris looks back, and Sebastian smiles sadly at him. Fenris’s eyes drop to Hawke, and he leans forward to ghost his lips onto her shoulder. Such a small thing, but Sebastian can feel the deep breath Hawke takes in response to it.

She begins to fall asleep, but refuses to let either of them go. They refuse to leave her. She sleeps peacefully in the middle of the bed, Fenris at her back and her head in the crook of Sebastian’s arm. She sleeps untroubled, any nightmare she could have had banished by their presence.

They stay in the morning. They stay for the rest of the day. They help Hawke plan the funeral. Sebastian takes a more active role, suggesting things here and there, telling Hawke that he would talk to the Chantry for her. Fenris simply stays close to her, always in range, ready to be at her side in a moment’s notice.

The funeral is a small and private thing, one where Hawke does not shed a tear. Gamlen weeps openly, Bodahn joining him as well. The rest worry after Hawke, but she keeps her shoulders square and does not make a sound. When it is over, she goes home alone. “I need some time,” she tells Sebastian, her arms around him, closing her eyes with her head at his chest. He obliges her the hug for as long as she needs it. She reappears two days later with a smile. She doesn’t mention her mother. They don’t bring it up.

* * *

Hawke races through the burning streets of Hightown. She skids to a halt seeing grey skin, large horns. The Qunari have finally made their move. Sebastian strikes first, an arrow in the Qunari’s chest as Fenris dashes forward, his sword sparking on the ground behind him. Hawke makes a fist, pushes it upwards, and ice swallows the feet of the Qunari which surround them. Aveline smashes into one of them with her shield, deals the finishing blow with her sword. They follow in the wake of Orsino and Meredith, the group of them cutting a path towards the Viscount’s Keep.

The steps of the Keep are red from more than just the rug. Orsino and Meredith have left to deal with the remaining Qunari in the city. Hawke goes to deal with the Arishok. She looks over her shoulder at them, one last look. Her eyes linger on each one of them before she pushes open the door to the throne room. She doesn’t expect Isabela to come back with the relic, but she does anyway, standing beside Hawke and proclaiming that it’s Hawke’s damnable influence.

The Arishok demands Isabela come with them. Sebastian and Fenris both look at each other. They know that Hawke would never give up one of her friends. Sure enough, Hawke steps protectively in front of her, shielding Isabela behind her back. “No,” Hawke tells the Arishok, “she stays with me.” The fight was inevitable. Fenris thought he would be fighting it by her side, sword in hand. Instead, they are forced to the sidelines, forced to watch a duel.

They are circling each other, Hawke’s staff twirling in her hands. She looks at him with eyes darkly, this beast who has threatened her city and her friends so. The Arishok holds a heavy axe, a broad sword. His weapons are larger than Hawke is. Fenris moves involuntarily, taking a step forward. It’s Sebastian who reaches out to him, wrapping a hand around his wrist. He holds him still with that touch, and Fenris can feel Sebastian’s hand shaking.

Hawke turns, plants her feet, staff striking forward with two quick bolts. The Arishok shrugs them off as though they are nothing, begins to march forward. She’s taking steps back, and the air in the keep is growing colder. Hawke is warm but her magic is cold, breath visible in the air as the blizzard begins to take shape. Snow settles on her eyelashes, and she is pulling forward snapping ice at the Arishok’s feet. What might have stopped another does not stop him.

Hawke weaves around a pillar, and it is stone that catches the Arishok’s axe, not flesh. Hawke bursts flame from her fingertips, and the Arishok roars and slices his sword through it. She’s nimble, stepping to and fro, dodging every swipe of shining metal. It is the thrust forward that she does not expect. Sebastian’s hand tightens around Fenris’s wrist, the both of them struggling not to move. Hawke looks down at the sword through her belly, the one that pins her against the pillar. The Arishok is moving away from her, thinking victory assured.

There’s blood in her mouth, and all the cold has gone. She’s reaching out with her hand, stretching forward fingers. With a cry, she pulls downwards. She pulls down the very fist of the maker, pressure unending atop of the Arishok. He turns back towards her with a frown, a look of surprise when he drops to his knee. He struggles to stay straight, propped up upon his axe, trying to keep his head held high. The snap echoes through the Keep. The Arishok’s head lolls, his neck broken, his body slumping to the floor.

Hawke makes no sound as she pulls the sword from herself, cutting her hands on the edges of the sword. Fenris races forward, no longer needing to be held back, his arms outstretched. She falls forward into them, and Fenris easily lifts her into his arms. He turns, wide-eyed, staring at Sebastian. “A mage,” Sebastian tells him. Sebastian pushes nobles out of the way, clearing the path to Orsino’s band of gathered mages.

They attempt to take Hawke from Fenris but he only holds tighter. It’s Sebastian who helps lift her from her arms, into the waiting embrace of magic. When she is gone, Fenris is looking at his arms, wet with her blood. Sebastian covers his arms with his own, wrapping his hands around them. “Fenris,” he says, “she’ll be alright.” Fenris trembles, steps forward, rests his head on Sebastian’s shoulder and takes a shuddering breath. “She’ll be alright.”

They make their way back to Fenris’s mansion, and it is a single finger at Sebastian’s breastplate that pulls him inside. Fenris closes the door to his mansion, then turns to him. Arms that wind around him, clinging to him desperately, Fenris’s head in the crook of his neck. Sebastian places hands upon his warm back, allows Fenris to get used to his touch before tightening the embrace.

Bodahn finds them at the mansion the next day. “The mistress is awake, and asking after you both,” he tells them. Sebastian leaves his armor and his bow where they lay, and Fenris does the same. They make their way to Hawke’s estate, plain clothed and worried, side by side as they walk up the stairs to her room.

She’s sitting up, surrounded by pillows, a hand over her gut. “I’m going to have a wickedly badass scar,” she tells them with a grin. She’s pale but in good humor, and Sebastian chuckles, shakes his breath as he pulls up a chair.

“It is good to see you,” he says to her. She smiles, reaches out to him, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

“And you,” she says. Fenris sits at the end of the bed, one hand over her ankle. His other hand he wraps around the poster of the bed, leans his head upon it. He closes his eyes, lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Is there anything we can do?” Sebastian asks her, taking her hand in his as it falls away from his face. She gives his hand a squeeze before replying.

“Read to me? It’s been so boring stuck here, and I have no way of properly holding it up,” she says. Sebastian laughs, pats his hand as he rises.

“Fenris,” Sebastian asks, “would you like to choose the book?” Fenris’s eyes snap open, and his cheeks color red.

“I, ah, no. You can,” he says. Sebastian cocks his head, looks at him pointedly. The red deepens, and Fenris looks away. “I cannot read.” He admits this silently, to the floor, looking away from both Hawke and Sebastian. “Slaves are not permitted to learn.”

“It’s not too late to learn Fenris,” Hawke says, “We can teach you.”

“I don’t want to trouble you with this,” he says.

“I’m sure Hawke would appreciate the distraction,” Sebastian says, “and we are more than willing.” Fenris’s fingers tap against the wood, until he finally looks back at them.

“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. I just… I never thought that I would have the chance to learn. I – thank you. Both of you,” he says. Sebastian shows up at the estate the next night with a beaming smile and books in his arms. Fenris comes bringing food. He lies next to Hawke on the bed, a book in his hands, following along with her as she reads to him, her finger under each word.

Sebastian sits on the side of the bed, beside Fenris, shows him letters. Fenris’s jaw clenches when Sebastian passes him a piece of parchment, a single word upon it, and tells him that it’s his name. Fenris stares at it for long moments, then folds it and tucks it into his belt. When Sebastian goes to collect him at his mansion, he can see that parchment on his bedside table.

Weeks pass, and Anders finally allows Hawke to rise from the bed. They follow her as she limps around her mansion, unwilling and not wanting to stay still any longer. Fenris makes stumbling progress, growing frustrated with each failed attempt. Sebastian and Hawke possess nothing but patience, helping to turn him down the right path. “And the Maker, clad in the ma- the maj – the…” Fenris grits his teeth, slams the book down upon the table.

“And the Maker, clad in the majesty of the sky,” Sebastian says as he sits on the floor next to Fenris, putting a cup of wine in front of both Hawke and Fenris. They crowd around Hawke’s coffee table, next to the fire, a blanket over each their legs. Hawke sits across from the both of them, smiling as she brings the cup to her lips.

“Do you have the entire chant memorized?” She asks.

“Not the entirety. There are a few favorite passages I know,” Sebastian says.

“Of course that would be the one thing you want him to read,” she teases gently. Fenris smiles, planting an elbow on the table, looking at Sebastian with amusement. Sebastian huffs, crosses his arms.

“It is what I first learned to read from,” he says, Hawke breaking into laughter as he hotly defends himself. They’ve fallen into an easy rapport, having spent each night for the past few months side by side. “The two of you are relentless.” He shakes his head, and Fenris gives a low chuckle as he drinks. He looks at the wine in the cup, then pushes it towards Sebastian.

“You never drink with us,” he says, taps the rim of the cup.

“Ah, the Chantry frowns upon it,” Sebastian says.

“We won’t tell,” Hawke says. Sebastian’s brows knit, his fingers wrapping around the cup.

“Drink, and I will tell you a secret,” Fenris says. Sebastian raises an eyebrow, looks at him skeptically. A grin quirks at Fenris’s mouth, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he taps the rim of the cup once again. Sebastian thinks for a moment, then sips from where Fenris’s lips had once been. His face sours as he slams the cup back upon the table.

“I seem to have lost my taste for it,” he says. Hawke laughs, both elbows on the table, holding her chin in her hands.

“Then you’ll just have to drink more,” she tells him.

“I do believe I am owed a reward,” he says, turning with a flourish towards Fenris.

“Hawke has three freckles on her hip. They look like –” Fenris mimics a face of surprise, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

Hawke immediately makes a noise of disbelief, an exhaled “bwuah!” and leans over the table to punch Fenris in the shoulder. He falls backwards, his arms around himself, laughing as he moves out of her reach. Sebastian throws back his head and laughs, drinks the rest of the wine left in the cup. It’s refilled many times throughout the night, and their conversation has steered from reading to any topic that flits into their heads.

It’s much too late when Fenris rises, tells her that he needs to go home and sleep. Sebastian leans against the entryway of the foyer as Fenris and Hawke say their goodbyes. Sebastian is just as surprised as Hawke when Fenris leans down, his eyes closed, pressing a soft kiss against Hawke’s lips. She’s still touching her lips after the door closes and Sebastian walks up beside her.

“I’m happy for you,” he says warmly, putting a hand on her arm. She smiles, cheeks a pleased pink. Her hands land on his arms, rising on her toes, to return the favor that Fenris had given her, upon Sebastian’s lips.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” she says, her heels back on solid ground. He finds he has no words, simply nods and takes his leave. The cold night air does wonders for the wine coursing through his system, his thoughts becoming clearer. His thoughts lingering on the kiss, on the laughter, on the taste on the cup that wasn’t wine. He half-barricades himself in his room, quickly shedding layers, crawling into bed.

He tries to ignore the thoughts that plague him. Hawke and Fenris, firelight flickering on their smiling faces. _Three freckles on her hip_. He tries not to picture it. Still, the ghost of Hawke swims before him, glorious and beautiful, lips parted and eyes half-lidded. He stirs at the image, and Sebastian rolls over onto his stomach. The pressure of the mattress against his cock does nothing to calm his growing erection. It only gets worse when the ghost of Fenris joins her, pressing kisses to her nape.

He sits up in his bed, leaning against the wall, his hands clenched at his side. He knows Hawke would be a gentle, understanding lover. Tucking hair behind pointed ears, suckling at his earlobe. Her hand drifts down lazily, over muscle and lyrium skin, her hand wrapping around the base of Fenris’s cock. It’s the thought of the sounds Fenris would make that does him in. That low voice, a guttural groan, and Sebastian’s fingers are slipping underneath his waistband.

He aches with the thought of them, throbbing and needy, an unsteady hand touching the salt that leaks out the tip of him. Fenris is a powerful warrior, and in his mind’s eye, he can see the way Fenris’s back moves, all controlled strength and grace. Stretched out over Hawke, shoulders tense as he thrusts inside her cunt. Sebastian wraps a hand around himself, groans as he begins to slowly stroke. Hawke’s legs wrapped around his waist, her hands fluttering on his shoulders. Her voice in harmony with his, light and dark, crying out together.

His grip tightens, and his hips move so that he may fuck into his hand. It’s not enough, it’s not _enough_. He wants to be there, to run his hand down Fenris’s spine, to cup Hawke’s ass, to taste them both on his tongue. All he can do is imagine Hawke pinning Fenris to the bed, riding him like a stallion, her breasts bouncing with each heavy thrust. Fenris would have his hands on her waist, moving his hips in time with hers, burying himself ever deeper, all the way to the hilt.

Sebastian comes with a strangled moan, to the thought of Fenris spilling his seed inside of a writhing Hawke. His hands are sticky with it, streaks of white upon his shirt. He leans his head back, sighs as he stares at the blue ceiling of the Chantry. Maker forgive him, he was fantasizing about his closest friends. Maker forgive him, he wanted them both. He closes his eyes, steadies his breathing, and feels his racing pulse drift back to normalcy. How could he face them now?

Little does he know, Hawke is on all fours in her bed, a desperate hand inside of her smalls. She moans as she pumps a finger in and out. She imagines winding her hands into Fenris’s hair, Sebastian tugging at her own. He would expose her neck for Fenris to bring his teeth down upon, sucking a mark onto ivory flesh. She would shake as Sebastian pounded into her, holding to Fenris to keep herself steady. His hands would be at her breasts, pinching at her nipples. She would feel their heat on both sides, seek wet kisses from them, have them both, and have them _both_.

Fenris has his forehead against cool stone, feet planted upon the floor, mouth open and eyes closed. He knows the secret places of Hawke and that spot on her back that upon being kissed makes her moan. He pumps unceremoniously at his cock, knowing the face that she would make. Her eyes closed, fist at her mouth to stifle her cries. It would be Sebastian who would pull her hand away, encourage every little noise of pleasure. It would be Sebastian whose hand would drift upon his back, whose hand would fall upon the curve of his ass. Whose fingers would press inside of him, would stretch him, would make him ready. It would be Sebastian who would take him, just as he takes Hawke.

* * *

Hawke’s eyes move towards the heavens, and she raises a hand to block the glaring sun from her eyes. She sighs as her hand drops back down to her side, and she looks out over the endless wastes. “This is miserable,” she says.

“I know!” Varric says, throwing his hands up. “This is where my sources tracked those dwarves who attacked you though.” They had come without warning, shattering windows and breaking through the door. Sebastian and Fenris never brought their weapons with them to the estate. It was Hawke with her magic that did all the hard work, protecting them as they fought off the dwarves who sought to draw her blood. “Carta usually isn’t stupid. Don’t know why they’d attack you.”

“Let’s ask, shall we?” Hawke strides forward, going towards the ruins that rise in the stand. Varric trucks off beside her, Sebastian and Fenris at their backs. “Let’s hope the next people who attack us have their base at a nice beach, or a flower field.”

“You’ve come!” The dwarf that greets him has his eyes clouded, his arms spread, and his grin fanatical. “Everyone! It’s the child of Malcolm Hawke! She’s come to us! It began with him and ends with you.” Hawke looks over her shoulder at the others and shrugs. “Corypheus will walk in the sun once more.” Another eyebrow raise from Hawke, and she summons her magic. They fight their way from sun to tower, down into the depths.

She pulls a staff from the corpse of one of the leaders, hisses as she feels the power pulse in her veins. “This is a key,” she says, “It will take us to Corypheus.” Two dwarves emerge from the shadows, begin to run from them. They are quick to run after them, quick to fall into the trap.

She looks at the barrier that bars the way back and frowns. She leans against her staff, her knuckles white, rubbing a hand against her temple. “The last time I was in the deep roads, Carver died,” she says quietly. Her eyes close and she sighs, pinching her brows. Sebastian puts a hand on her back, while Fenris moves to stand in front of her.

“We will protect you,” he says while Sebastian nods in agreement.

“I’m sure there’s another way out,” Sebastian says.

“We’d best go find it,” Varric says, walking away from the barrier, Bianca in his arms. Hawke sighs again, standing up straight, her staff in her hands. They walk over ancient rubble, coarse dirt and dust, sand permeating every inch. It piles in dark corners, lumps of shifting earth. It is from these piles that _they_ emerge. Genlocks snarling on all fours, bounding towards them.

Varric is quick with the bolts, while Sebastian raises his bow. Hawke lifts her hands to the air, the crystal of her staff shining, and Fenris feels protective magic wash over him. Fire ignites inside one of the genlocks, who falls back screeching. They are hardy, this creature, and Fenris has to hack again and again and again. Without Aveline, their battering ram, the genlocks break past Fenris.

Hawke only grunts when one slams into her, beginning to bash at it with her staff. She’s pulling at her magic, unleashing invisible and forceful punches. Varric is being surrounded, but so is Fenris. He cries out when a genlock swipes at his arm, draws blood and forces the sword from his grasp. “Fenris!” Hawke’s cry is desperate and panicked, and Sebastian instantly races towards Fenris.

He brings down his bow upon the face of one, burying an arrow into the eye of another. It buys Fenris enough time to snarl, to collect his sword, to exact vengeance upon them. Hawke has electricity sparking between her fingertips, sending lightning flying forward with a shout.

When it is over, when it is done, the four of them stand panting heavily. There is blood upon their armor, blood not their own and Varric sinks down to his knees. Hawke makes her way towards Fenris, reaches for his wrist. She places a hand over the wound, closes her eyes as she focuses on the healing. When it is done, her eyes open, and she knocks her forehead against Fenris’s, breathing relief.

They fight more on their way down, until they’re too exhausted to stand. “I vote we make camp,” Varric says, shouldering Bianca.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sebastian says. Fenris shrugs, takes the pack from his back. Food is eaten in silence, bedrolls unfurled in the same manner. Varric is soon upon his, his back towards them, a light snoring arising from him.

Sebastian and Fenris are both sitting up still, against a wall. Hawke rises from her bedroll, makes her way towards them. Fenris looks up at her in wonder as she straddles him, settling down, winding her arms tight around his neck. “The darkspawn today… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” she whispers to him. When she pulls back, her hands cup his face. He tilts his face upwards towards her, closes his eyes. Sebastian rests his arms upon his knees, leans his head back against cool stone. Fenris’s hands travel the length of her back, up and down, and Sebastian tries not to listen to the way their lips sound against each other, the way he can hear Fenris breathing into her mouth.

Hawke leans back in Fenris’s lap, her cheeks pink, turns towards Sebastian. “And you,” she says, “you saved him.” She reaches out, a touch starting at his shoulder, drifting down his arm, taking one of his hands in hers.

Sebastian shifts where he sits, turning towards them. “Of course, you are both very dear to me, I couldn’t-” The words die when Fenris reaches out, places a hand at the back of Sebastian’s neck. He pulls him in, his eyes closing, and Fenris’s nose brushing against his. Fenris pushes the kiss, pulls at Sebastian’s bottom lip. He opens his mouth to him, finds a tongue wet and warm. Fenris tastes earthy, minty, and _good_.

Fenris pulls away, his face flushed, and Hawke puts a hand at Sebastian’s chin. She turns his face towards her, moves in. Her kiss is lighter, less forceful, and Sebastian finds himself weak to it. She tastes sweet like strawberries, and when she pulls away, the both of them still swirl in his mouth. He’s drunk on them, his eyes half-lidded, and his cock half hard. Hawke leans towards Fenris again, her hips rolling over his, wrapping arms around him once again.

Her head in the crook of his neck, her piercing blue eyes look towards Sebastian. He pulls himself closer, his chest leaning against the two of them. This time he is the one seeking. Hawke watches breathlessly as Sebastian swallows Fenris’s mouth, groaning against him, a hand slipping between them both to rest against Fenris’s chest. Hawke is rolling her hips again, closing her eyes as she moves methodically, Fenris’s hips rising unconsciously to meet hers.

Fenris’s hand slips down the front of Sebastian, fingers at the buttons of his collar. He undoes them deftly, pressing a hand against his bare chest. His hands are warm, and Sebastian surrenders utterly to his touch. He feels one of Hawke’s hands flutter at his shoulders, at his neck, winding into his hair. He mixes mint with berries, Hawke stealing another desperate kiss. Fenris’s hand is moving downwards still, and Sebastian cannot help the guttural moan he makes when he palms his cock.

“Stop!” Varric’s back is still to them, but he has a hand over his ear, “you do this and I swear to the Maker I am putting every detail into a book. I will not change names! Also, I will absolutely tell Isabela the instant we get back.”

A line of spit breaks between them as Hawke pulls away, from both Fenris and Sebastian, moving back to her own bedroll. Fenris moves his closer to Hawke’s, motions for Sebastian to the same. They curl up close to each other, Fenris in the center. They look at each other breathlessly for long moments, eye to eye to eye, coming to complete understanding. Sebastian takes one of Fenris’s hands, Hawke takes the other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s ready to reach for an arrow, to call out the warning, but Fenris is still walking, moving towards a red-haired elf. Hawke can feel the trap in every second, every word as Varania stands and calls him by a different name. Leto.

Hawke turns her fear to deadly anger. The darkspawn come at her, and she does not falter. There’s confidence in her spine, power in her fingers, calm in her heart. Her spells split between protection of the others and death to whoever stands in their way. She’s breathless as she pulls fire from within herself, smiling as she strengthens the others. A flash of white here, the glint of metal there. Fenris carves his way through the darkspawn, clearing a path. Sebastian guards his back, well placed arrows finding their mark on whoever dares approach.

“You three are certainly _inspired_ today,” Varric mumbles. Hawke laughs as she puts a hand on his shoulder, pats it gently. They follow the Grey Warden Larius further down into the prison. Hawke breaks the seals with ease, the magic flowing into the key she carries. They break wards, seals, and push their way through the prison defenses. At one seal, at the voice of a ghost, Hawke’s eyes widen.

“My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base,” it says. Hawke turns to watch it go, her heart hammering in her chest. Any evidence of the calm of battle dissipates.

“My father,” she says. “That’s my _father’s_ voice.” Her brow furrows, her fists clench and she stares at the stony floor as though the dust and dirt could whisper the answer to every question. They do not answer her and so she turns to Larius, pressing him against the wall, her arm at her throat. “Tell me. _Tell me_!” Larius is helpless, and spills his secrets.

“An apostate mage… we threatened the death of his pregnant lover in return for his aid,” he says. Hawke’s eyes flare wide, and for a moment, Fenris thinks that this is the end for Larius. Instead, Hawke lets him go with an angry shout. Sebastian puts a hand on her back, and she does not brush it away. She allows it to steady her, to help her find her focus.

“Let’s finish this. I want to go home,” she says. It’s not that easy. It’s never that easy. They kill the remaining Carta that stand in their way. They kill the Grey Warden that leads them. Hawke stands on the last seal, the key in her hands. She pulls the knife from her belt, presses it against her palm. It’s just there, metal against flesh for long silent moments. Then she pulls swiftly, lets the blood drip to the floor. The light flares underneath her feet, takes the key from her grasp. Then it pushes them both out.

Hawke goes flying, rolls against the ground, Fenris and Sebastian racing to her side. They help her to her feet just as another creature begins to stand. “Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?” Its gaze swirls, turns, lands upon them. It speaks confusion, struggles to understand its own situation. Things jagged like rocks break from its skin, stretch it, and pull at corruption and degradation. “Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any magister of Tevinter. On your knees! All of you!”

Hawke takes a step back, her hand around Fenris’s wrist. He is staring at the creature with his distaste plain, the anger lingering just under the surface at the creature’s command. “You are what held me. I smell the blood in you.” His anger turns to fear for Hawke as Corypheus hones in on her, glaring at her. It babbles further, pacing on its dais, speaking of the first breach into the Golden City. “It was supposed to be golden! It was supposed to be ours! If I cannot leave with you, I will leave through you! I seek the light!”

“Everyone move!” Varric calls, moments before Corypheus begins to draw power from the statues which once held him. They round the circle again and again, breaking the pillar, cutting off his source of power. Only then does Corypheus face them directly.

Hawke staggers backwards, struggles to raise her usual protections. Corypheus is exuding his own like a weight upon her chest, stifling and strangling her magic. She forces it through, watches as Fenris comes in low, striking at the creature’s legs. Varric and Sebastian aim high from opposite sides, keeping Corypheus roaring with rage between them.

They buy the time Hawke needs to focus, to draw, to pull the power from her chest with a cry, the ice beginning to form on the creature’s chest. “I will not-! I will not-!” It is shouting, pulling at its own flesh, trying to shake the foreign magic from him. Fenris raises the sword over his head, strikes it down like a spike into his leg, pinning Corypheus to the ground. Sebastian moves to Hawke’s side, raises his bow. The arrow embeds itself in Corypheus’s eye.

Hawke doesn’t listen to Larius as she moves past him. She shoots him an icy glare, keeps on walking. The rest of the way back to Kirkwall is like that, Hawke furious and silent, choosing to be alone rather than to stand with the rest of them. The door to her estate closes, and keeps the others outside of it. Fenris paces in his mansion late at night, takes a deep sigh.

It’s Isabela who showed him how, although she never thought he might take it seriously. Fenris struggles to recall her drunken instruction, pick in the lock of Hawke’s door. The smallest of smiles when the lock clicks and the door swings open. He finds her sitting on the floor of her empty estate. She looks over her shoulder when he enters. “I suppose I don’t want to know how you got in here,” she says. Fenris doesn’t say anything, simply sits himself down in front of her.

She pulls herself closer, her legs over his, wrapping around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her fingers play with the end of his tunic, and her eyes close. His hands rest at her hips, and he says nothing, knowing Hawke needs the courage of silence. Her hands drift from the bottom to the middle, tapping up every bump of his spine as she draws him into the embrace. “Blood magic,” she says. “My father did so much to keep his family safe.” More silence, but her hands are shaking on his back.

“I tried, Fen.” She buries her face against the crook of his neck. “I _tried_ , but they died anyway.”

Fenris’s hands begin to mirror hers, splaying out over her back, holding her as much as she needs. “Hawke,” he says, “there was nothing more you could have done.”

“I should have killed the ogre before it killed Bethany. I should never have taken Carver to the Deep Roads. I should have been faster to find my mother. I should have-”

“Hawke. I know how hard you fought for them. There was nothing more you could have done, nothing,” he repeats it for her, hammering the words home, feeling the wetness of tears against his neck. These tears are brief, short lived. She sniffles once before she pulls away, wipes at her eyes. She places her hands on Fenris’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over cheekbones.

“ _You_ are my family now. I will keep you safe. I promise,” she tells him. One his hands moves to her wrist, and he closes his eyes and leans into her touch. “No matter what happens, I hope we stay together.”

“And Sebastian?” he asks. “He loves us both. I – ah…”

“Yes,” she says, “me too.” They look at each other and nod, seal the agreement with a kiss. His hand cradles the back of her head, keeping her close. They move eventually, but not very far. They fumble onto the couch, wrapped in each other, letting sleep claim them.

In the morning, after breakfast, Fenris leaves the estate. He does not go home, but instead find his feet drifting towards the Chantry. He’s not wearing any armor, same as last night, left in his home. Not that one would need armor in the Chantry but still… he feels exposed, every sound and every smell amplified. He walks stiffly, makes his way to one of the pews.

He looks up at Andraste, and her unsmiling face stares back at him. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing here. The awkwardness of it all, the anxiety, knots in his chest, and he thinks he should go. That stops when Sebastian takes a seat beside him and smiles. The knot unties itself, becomes unraveled, and disappears. “I thought we should talk,” Sebastian says. He reaches for Fenris’s hands, finds it clumsy but warm, and holds it tight as he leads him to some dark corner.

“I took vows. When I entered the Chantry. Of Chastity,” Sebastian smiles. “I find that I’m more than willing to break them for you, and Hawke. I’ve never met a finer man. I’ve never met a finer woman. I understand if Hawke is the most important to you, and that you are the most important to Hawke. I just wish to be a par-”

“Shut up,” Fenris rasps, surging forward, catching Sebastian’s face in his hands, pressing his lips against his. It should feel wrong, kissing him like _this_ in the Chantry. All Sebastian feels is the fire in his chest, the burning need for more. His arms wrap around Fenris, pull him closer. Fenris is leaning fully against him, pressing him against the wall, a leg between his. He moves his leg, just so, rubbing it against Sebastian’s cock as his tongue slicks in his mouth.

“My room,” Sebastian breathes as they move to re-adjust the kiss, “close.” Fenris stalks after him like a predator hunting prey, watching him with hungry eyes. The instant Sebastian closes the door, he’s on him once again. His hips buck against his, and Sebastian can feel how hard he is. The same want that exists in Sebastian. Fenris is pushing him backwards towards the bed, stretching himself over him.

At the first roll of Fenris’s hips, Sebastian moans. He’s reaching between them, finding the laces on Fenris’s trousers, drawing him out. He does the same to his own trousers, and wraps a hand around both their cocks. Fenris groans, makes a curious thrust. They slide against one another, Sebastian’s hand ever so tight, and Fenris is helpless than do anything less than continue.

Sebastian leans upwards, seeks Fenris’s mouth. He needs that kiss again, breathing against each other, wet and warm, heat boiling in their bellies. Sebastian’s hips move upwards, in time with Fenris’s thrusts. They grind against one another, Sebastian’s hand pumping at both of them, and drawing out every last one of Fenris’s delicious muted grunts. “Fenris,” Sebastian moans into his mouth.

Fenris’s elbows are on the mattress, propping him over Sebastian. His hands are fisting into the sheets, his eyes squeezing closed. Sebastian is breathing quicker, his free hand slipping underneath Fenris’s tunic, feeling the muscles move on his back. Fenris comes undone first, but Sebastian follows soon after, unable to resist the sound of Fenris’s moan.

Fenris rolls off of Sebastian, lying on his back beside him. Sebastian reaches for his nightstand, pulls out a towel from one of the drawers. He cleans them both tenderly, pressing a kiss to Fenris’s belly before retying the lacings. “Hawke and I have spoken,” Fenris says, turning his head. Sweat-soaked strands of white hair cross his forehead as he moves. “We want – we want – you. If you’ll have us.”

“Yes,” Sebastian says, “yes,” and moves to kiss him once again.

* * *

When Hawke goes to look for him later, she finds he isn’t alone. “Are you certain it’s her?” He’s pacing back and forth, around Aveline, while she sits at his table, wearing an exasperated expression.

“An elf, matching your description, on the ship you named. And alone, as far as I could tell,” she tells him. Fenris grits his teeth, cocks his head, and slams his hands down upon the table.

“I need to know if it’s a trap!” Aveline may only hear the anger, the frustration, but Hawke hears the desperation and the plea.

“I did as you asked, Fenris. Now it’s up to you,” Aveline says as kindly as she can when she stands, passing Hawke as she begins to leave. She looks at Hawke, shakes her head, and keeps on walking.

“ _Venhedis_! _Fasta vass_!” He doesn’t look at her as he moves to pace once again, back and forth, wearing a path into the floor. She intercepts the pattern, stands in his way, and reaches for his arm. He prickles at her touch, and then softens. His eyes rise to meet hers. “What Hadriana told me… about my sister. I followed the information. She’s here. I wanted-” His eyes break from hers, settle on the floor with a frown. She knows. He wants to reclaim himself, have something of his own. “She’s a tailor.” He says the words so quietly, but the relief is unmistakable. Not a slave.

“Where is she? We’ll go meet her.” His eyes widen, and there’s a brief tremble. She knows how much this must mean to him. She would not falter at his side.

“If Danarius-”

“You’ll have me and Sebastian,” she tells him, taking his hand in hers, raising it to her face and pressing a kiss to his palm. “We won’t let anything happen.” She helps him put on his armor. They stop at her estate to gather her staff. Sebastian only needs one look at them before he nods, disappearing into his room. He comes back out carrying his bow. Hawke explains the situation to Sebastian quickly, while Fenris is clenching his hands into fists. Stretching them out. Back into a fist. All the way to Lowtown, and the Hanged Man.

It should be crowded, filled with people. Instead it is silent, empty, and Hawke shares a worried look with Sebastian. He would keep his bow holstered but he keeps it in his hands now, knuckles white as he holds it. He’s ready to reach for an arrow, to call out the warning, but Fenris is still walking, moving towards a red-haired elf. Hawke can feel the trap in every second, every word as Varania stands and calls him by a different name. _Leto_.

If she could, she’d pull him away now. If she could, she would never have him safely away from this place. If she could, she would have made it so he never had to set eyes on Danarius again. She hears the footsteps, and all the wishing stops. Guards in heavy armor, streaming around the tavern, a smiling Danarius at their center. Sebastian and Hawke both flank Fenris, and the arrow is finally drawn, being notched.

“Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always.” They can only watch as all hopes of Fenris retaking the pieces of his past are blown away with each word. Fenris is yelling at Varania, indistinct words to Hawke as she steps in front of him, keeps him safe behind her. The Magister stops at the bottom of the stairs and does not look at Fenris. His eyes are cold, his smile tainted. He looks at Hawke and adjusts the staff in his hands.

“And this is your new mistress, then? The Champion of Kirkwall? Quite lovely,” his words drip with insincerity, with fake flattery, but Hawke can’t help but feel disgusted. Her lips curl downwards and the frown is quick to form.

“Fenris doesn’t belong to anyone,” she seethes. Sebastian keeps the bow taut, the string drawn, moving just as Hawke had, to keep Fenris safe. Danarius eyes him next, amusement plain.

“The exiled prince of Starkhaven? My, my Fenris, you have been busy. The lad is rather skilled, isn’t he?”

“Shut your mouth Danarius,” Fenris says, pushing past both of them, his markings coming alight. He had made peace with his name long ago. No longer master. _Dominus_. He had whispered the name to himself night after night as he crept through alleyways, slept in abandoned barns. As he stole his way to freedom and the word became easier and easier in his mouth. _Dominus_. He looks him in the eye and calls him Danarius because he is Fenris, and he is a free man. Danarius sighs, as though he were simply a pet done wrong.

“The word is _master_.” That’s all it takes for Sebastian to let go of his hold, send the arrow flying. It crashes into the barrier Danarius has around himself. Hawke is moving forward next, her hand outstretched, clenching into a fist, pulling backwards and ripping at the barrier. Danarius grits his teeth and turns his back. Fenris draws his sword as guards move to take their masters place.

Hawke is stuck on a furious growl as she focuses on Danarius, her magic following his and she – apostate, untrained, undisciplined – is tearing at the Magister’s magic. Sweat beads on his brow as he struggles to keep his barrier raised, watching as she pokes at him and effortlessly casts her spells on any who dare approach her. Fenris and Sebastian are working to keep her burden low, tearing through flesh and bone.

Sebastian keeps to Fenris’s back, protecting him from all that the rampaging elf cannot see. The guard that approaches from the left with a dagger raised. The shade in the corner, clinging to shadows, launching itself forward. Fenris wields his sword as though it weighs nothing, turning it deftly, deflecting a blade here, and drawing blood there. With a roar, Hawke pushes through the barrier, watches it crash into nothing.

Now she is all wild abandon, her magic thick in the air. Fenris can feel it on his skin, breathes in new life. The ache disappears from Sebastian’s bones, his energy restored. She gives them the second wind they need to fold in upon Danarius like a pack of angry wolves. Fenris leads the charge, and Danarius meets blade with staff. It goes crashing out of his hands, and Danarius soon joins it on the floor.

“Please, no. I can – I am your _master_.” Danarius screams when the arrow pierces his thigh. Hawke and Sebastian look down upon him as Fenris plants his sword in the floorboards of the tavern. He reaches down, hoists Danarius to his feet.

“You are no longer my master,” he says, markings casting a blue light, crashing to Danarius’s chest. He returns the gift Danarius forced upon him. Danarius falls to the floor in a boneless heap, no resistance and no life left in him. One down. Fenris whirls to face Varania.

“I had no choice Leto,” she says, her posture that of a slave scolded, her hands raised and palms outward.

“Stop calling me that,” Fenris says as he makes his way towards her.

“He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a Magister.” Here is fury standing before her, anger that she betrayed, but her words are eerily calm. Hawke realizes that for all the excuses, the defense raised in herself, she thinks that Fenris will kill her.

“You sold out your own brother to become a Magister? Get out of my sight,” Fenris says, turning and walking away, giving Varania a free path to run towards the door. 

"She was – she would have let me die – but she _is_ …” Fenris bites out the words, squeezes his eyes closed. She is his family and he has seen how much both Sebastian and Hawke had valued theirs, wanted them back. How much he wishes he could value his. “I was – there is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone.” Sebastian and Hawke both move forward at the same time.

“Fenris,” Sebastian says.

“You have us,” Hawke tells him.

“We’re here,” Sebastian says. The hard line in Fenris’s shoulders softens. He looks up from the floor to see both of them standing before him, sees the concern and care in equal measure.

“I need… time,” he says to them.

“Of course,” Hawke says, “we’ll be at the estate. Take all the time you need. We’ll be there when you’re ready.” She speaks the words calmly, but safe in her estate, she reaches out for Sebastian. She pulls at his breastplate as she moves to her knees, a fist at her chest, breathing heavily.

“Sorry, I – I used a lot of magic,” she tells him as she drags him down the floor with her. He leans his back against the wall, Hawke’s head on his lap.

“It’s alright,” he tells her, brushing hair from her forehead. “It’s alright.” She keeps her hands at her chest, her knees pulled upwards. She protects her core, her eyes closed and shivering. Bodahn brings blankets at Sebastian’s request, covering Hawke in them. She sleeps deeply and does not wake. Sebastian leans his head back, closes his eyes as his thumb moves in circles upon Hawke’s shoulders.

When her breathing evens out, he pulls her fully into his arms, carries her up the stairs. She still sleeps as he takes her armor off piece by piece. She lies against the pillows in plainclothes and here she is just Hawke, not the Champion of Kirkwall. Raven hair spills onto the white of the pillows, and Sebastian makes sure to tuck her in tightly. He adds more wood to the fire, sending sparks into the air. He removes his own armor, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair. His bow and arrows and Hawke’s staff still lie in the foyer.

She rouses slightly when he joins her in the bed, and she moves closer to him, seeking warmth. Her arms wrap around him, her lips slightly parted, her fingers light upon him. Sebastian smiles, slips an arm under her neck and pulls her close. He kisses her forehead, joins her in sleep. Fenris sleeps as well, not in his bed but before the fire, pillow and blankets on the floor. He sleeps facing the ruined ceiling, having drifted off to stars and sky.

Sebastian’s eyes open to sunlight crossing his face. When he turns, he sees that Hawke is already awake, curled up beside him with her eyes open and a smile on her face. She laughs as he rolls over, traps her beneath him and buries her in kisses. The laughter trails off as she looks at Sebastian, raises a hand to his cheek. “Do you think he’s alright?”

“Fenris is a strong man. He’ll know when he needs us,” Sebastian says.

He needs them in the unbearable silence. He needs them when his own thoughts become too much. He needs them with every step across Hightown. He needs them when he stands at the door. Bodahn shows him to the living room, where Hawke is leaning against Sebastian, the both of them with a book in their hands. They sit up straight when he enters, waits for him to speak.

“There are – I… Hawke. We have never truly discussed what happened between us three years ago. I was a fool. I should have stayed, and told you how I felt. I hope you can forgive me,” he says.

“I understood,” Hawke says, “I always understood.”

“Sebastian, I wis-“ His words are interrupted as Sebastian rises to his feet, swallows Fenris in a deep hug. Fenris stands still for a moment, but eventually his arms make their way around Sebastian, his eyes closing. He smells of the Chantry’s incense, and faintly of lavender. Fenris breathes it in deeply, allows the calm to work its way inside him.

Hawke puts a hand on his shoulder when Sebastian pulls away, plants a kiss on Fenris’s cheek. “Nothing could be worse than living without you,” Fenris tells them. “If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.” He does not drop his eyes. He looks at them both. Hawke takes his hand, leads him away from the living room. Sebastian follows behind them.

The fire still burns in Hawke’s room, casting light. Hawke closes the door behind them, and her fingers move to the buttons of Fenris’s tunic. Sebastian pushes it off his shoulders, kisses his neck. Then they are moving, switching positions, Hawke’s head against his shoulder. Her chest is warm against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist. Her hands flitter on his stomach, splay outward, hold him tight. She nibbles at him, presses a kiss upon the mark she has made. Sebastian cups his face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones before leaning closer. Fenris wets his lips, a flash of a pink tongue, savoring the feel of Sebastian’s breath upon him.

He’s so close, eyes flicking between Fenris’s eyes and his lips. He gazes at him, heady and longingly, Fenris moving a hand to wind into Sebastian’s hair. He closes his eyes, tilts his face upwards, and Sebastian makes good on the promise. He starts soft, slowly, pressing into it deeper and deeper. He captures Fenris’s bottom lip between his teeth, taking advantage of his gasp to push his tongue inside. Wet and warm, tracing over teeth and tongue.

Hawke closes her eyes as her hands begin to rove, finding the lacings on Fenris’s trousers. She pulls them apart carefully, and Fenris feels a shiver as her fingers trace the curving line of his hips. Skin against bare skin, Fenris pushes his hips forward with a moan when her hands find his cock. Wrapping around the base of it, giving a cursory pump. The kiss stutters and Sebastian smiles against his mouth.

She strokes him agonizingly slowly, twisting her hand up and down, rubbing a finger against his leaking slit, smearing salt down the underside of his shaft. Sebastian’s hands are moving as well, one to the back of his neck, keeping him trapped in the kiss, the other sliding down his chest. A jolt, when his hand joins Hawke’s, cupping his balls, massaging them lightly. He can taste Sebastian, breathing into his lungs, groaning into his mouth.

Fenris’s head follows Sebastian’s when he pulls away, eyes half-lidded, still wanting, but Sebastian only cleans the spit from the side of his mouth with a gentle thumb before he moves to his knees. He finishes what Hawke had started, pulls Fenris’s trousers completely to the floor. He steps out of them gingerly at Sebastian’s instruction, a light hand moving from ankle to ankle.

One of Hawke’s hands is still moving upon him, still touching, feeling, wanting everything. She can feel his heart pounding in his chest, smiles against his shoulder. Sebastian takes her other hand in his, winds their hands together. With his free hand, he continues what Hawke had been doing, a hand around Fenris’s length. He leaks freely now, and he shudders when he feels Sebastian’s tongue lapping at him.

His hand threads through Sebastian’s hair, and he can’t stop himself from looking down. He almost loses himself when Sebastian looks upwards, his cock at his mouth, before he swallows Fenris whole. Hawke is moving, into plain sight, removing her shirt as she goes. Freckles across her body like stars against the sky, and _oh_ , as she takes his free hand, pulls it to a breast. She replaces Sebastian’s taste with her own, leaning against him, her nose bumping against his as they kiss.

She has one arm over his shoulder, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. Her other hand she keeps over his, encouraging every squeeze, every roll, pinching a nipple between his fingers. Sebastian’s cheeks hollow as he moves his head, his tongue swirling around the tip. Fenris’s hands squeeze tighter in his hair, unable to stop his hips from moving forward, fucking into Sebastian’s mouth. He accepts all he has to give, taking to his task with enthusiasm. Fenris pulls away from Hawke with a gasp, “I can’t – I have to – _Sebastian_ –”

“Come,” Hawke says, her breath in his ear, running her tongue from lobe to pointed tip, suckling at the end. Sebastian’s hands are running along the back of his legs, cupping his ass, keeping him close. Both of Fenris’s hands are on Sebastian’s head now, his teeth gritted, his back hunched, his head on Hawke’s shoulder and her arms around his neck. Heavier breathing, his mouth opening, eyes squeezed closed, the barest of groans as he lets go.

Sebastian takes all he has to offer, licking his lips as he stands, ensuring he gets every last drop. Hawke is turning to him instantly, opening her mouth to him and kissing him deeply, tasting Fenris on his tongue. They both turn to Fenris, crowding him, kissing him, claiming him, loving him. “Tell us what you want,” Sebastian says.

“I’m-” Hawke is still wearing pants, and Sebastian is still fully clothed. Hawke tilts her head back, eyes closed and arms loose by her side, back arching as Fenris’s hand brushes against her belly, slips into her pants. He finds her agonizingly wet, and she rocks into his hand. “Undress,” he tells Sebastian. Fenris watches hungrily as Sebastian’s fingers pull at laces, pulling his tunic over his head. Hawke’s eyes are on him as well, appreciatively gazing at his body.

Sebastian gives a small grunt when he undoes the laces of his trousers, breathing a sigh of relief as he frees his erection. Throbbing and red, Fenris reaches out, wraps his thumb and forefinger around the head of it. Sebastian’s hand settles on his shoulder, squeezing tight as he thumbs the slit. “I want. To watch you both,” Fenris says, his voice low and husky.

Hawke moves nimbly, a hand on Fenris’s chest, pressing him towards the bed. She sheds her pants as she goes, stepping out of them. She settles Fenris on the bed, his back against the headboard, and herself against him. She puts a leg over each one of his, pulling up his knees, spreading herself wide. Her back is against his chest, and she turns to kiss Fenris on the cheek. Sebastian has his eyes on her cunt, stroking himself as he approaches the bed.

Fenris’s hands travel upwards, fingers tracking over curves and ribs, breast and shoulder. He kisses the nape of her neck, breathes against her ear. She sits so neatly against him, and he holds her tight. Her hands clench on his knees as Sebastian settles between them, leaning forward to kiss Fenris first, and then her. Fenris feels the shiver run through her as Sebastian slides his cock against her slickness, coating himself with it. He watches as Sebastian’s face heats, his already messy hair hanging down, dangling against his forehead.

He thrusts against her slit, not inside, not yet, and Hawke’s hands squeeze upon Fenris’s knees as his cock rubs against her clit. Hawke’s head tilts back, one of her hands moving to fist at her mouth. She bites down on a knuckle as the tip of him presses against her entrance, pushes inside. “Please,” she begs, and Sebastian’s hand tightens on the headboard. The other moves to Hawke’s waist, bruising on her hip as he begins to thrust in earnest.

Her hand is still at her mouth, stifling the small cries that come with each pump. Fenris’s hand wraps around her wrist, gently tugs her hand away. He instead places it on Sebastian’s shoulder, his fingers trailing down her arm, moving to cup her breast. He bites at Hawke’s earlobe as he savors each small shake of her breasts with Sebastian’s movements.

“Fuck, I-” Sebastian grunts, “it’s been so _long_.” At his words, Fenris’s hand slips down, over Hawke’s belly, his finger at her clit. Her back arches, a hand shaking in Sebastian’s hair, crying out as Fenris begins to tap out his touch, her cunt clenching unbearably around Sebastian. Her legs shake over Fenris’s, her toes pressing into the bedsheets.

“Come inside her,” Fenris instructs, and Sebastian needs no further command. His eyes close, his head dipping down to rest against Hawke’s forehead. Hawke’s hands are fluttering against his back, one moving to rest against the back of his neck, the other winding in Fenris’s hair. Sebastian’s hips buck, the rhythm quickening and hard, pushing himself in deep as he cries out. He collapses into her arms, his face in her chest, her arms cradling around his head. They breathe together, Fenris’s hands running through Sebastian’s hair, brushing against Hawke’s cheek. He feels warm, surrounded and safe.

They both follow Hawke to the bathroom, where she turns the taps to let in the water. All it takes is one touch of her hand against the tub to have the water steamy and warm. She sinks in with a sigh, Fenris and Sebastian joining her soon after. The giggle starts from Hawke, boiling over into laughter, swaying from side to side, pressing her shoulder against Sebastian and then Fenris. “Maker, it seems that _unorthodox_ romantic inclinations runs in the family,” she says.

Sebastian joins her in laughter, “I’m sure my esteemed ancestors are proud.” That only sets off Hawke even harder, and Fenris can’t help but be pulled along. Hawke moves to kneel, pulling Fenris close to her. They’ll all smell like Hawke ( _lavender and warmth_ ) once she’s finished. She massages at Fenris’s scalp, rubs soap in his hair. He’s practically purring, lost in her touch, while Sebastian is soaping up Hawke’s back. They’re all too happy to feel, to touch, to discover one another.

Sebastian pulls the towel around Fenris’s neck, over his head, rubbing at his hair. He lifts the towel away from Fenris’s face to see his cheeks red, his eyes elsewhere. Sebastian chuckles under his breath, leans forward to kiss the tip of his nose. Hawke makes a mewling noise as she stretches, arms above her head, a yawn soon following the motion.

They slip into the bed together, after Sebastian adds more wood to the fire. Hawke sets the flames roaring with a practiced motion of her hand. She pulls herself close to Fenris, resting her head in the crook of his arm. Her hand drifts over him, holding him tightly. Sebastian takes his place on the other side of Fenris, pressing his forehead against his temple. Legs move over legs, winding together, Sebastian’s arm over Fenris’s chest. They fall asleep wrapped in each other, Fenris nestled in the center.

Sometime during the night, Hawke shifts, opens her eyes. The sun is just barely starting to rise, light beginning to filter through the curtains. The fire is but embers, growing colder with each passing minute. She smiles to herself, nestled in the warmth of blankets and the warmth of both Fenris and Sebastian in her bed. She stretches like a cat, working out the kinks in her back. Something in the way she moves wakes Fenris, and he is content to watch her as she yawns, rubs a hand against her eyes.

“Hello,” she says when her hand drops away, sees him watching her. She leans forward, kisses him gently, lightly. He moves slightly, his hand on her arm, fingers moving against skin.

“Hello,” he says right back to her. He returns the kiss, harder, deeper, opening her mouth to him. His hand drifts over her back, presses at the bottom of it, tugs her closer. He cups her ass in his hands, and she smiles at his touch.

“Eager, are we?” She asks, reaching between them, finding him already hardening. He blushes, suddenly embarrassed, but Hawke only laughs as she moves, pinning him beneath her. Hair falls about her face as she bends over to kiss him again, her hands pressed against his chest. His hands move up her thighs, around her hips, pinching at her breast.

“Good morning,” Sebastian says, watching them both, propped up on one elbow. Hawke smirks, leans over to kiss him as well. Fenris wraps an arm around her waist, flips them deftly. She is now the one underneath Fenris, laughing with her arms around his neck. Sebastian’s hand at the back of his neck, he pulls Fenris towards him to claim his kiss. Then his hand is moving, slipping down Fenris’s back, watching him arch at the touch.

Hawke’s hands move to his face, brushing hair behind his ears. Her fingers linger, pinching lightly at the pointed tip, running down the length of it. Fenris drops his head to her shoulder as Sebastian’s hands are still moving, gooseflesh following their touch. “Please,” Fenris murmurs, “I want-” Sebastian looks at Hawke.

“Left,” she says. Sebastian moves to the left nightstand, opens the top drawer. He pulls out the bottle of oil, pushes the blankets to the end of the bed. Hawke’s hands are threading through Fenris’s hair, holding him tightly. Sebastian’s touch is light, fingers slick with the oil. He groans into Hawke’s shoulder as Sebastian enters him so slowly, so cautiously. Stretching, preparing, and Fenris shudders with a gasp when he finds that bundle of nerves.

Hawke can feel his cock against her, one of her hands reaching down to stroke at it. Fenris curses in Tevene, a muttered _venhedis_ , his fists shaking in the bedsheets. He thinks he might lose himself twice, growling at Sebastian, before his hands finally move and Sebastian kisses his back. Hawke shifts, her hand still around his cock, aligning him with her entrance. She bites her bottom lip when Fenris pushes himself inside.

Sebastian has a hand on her ankle, spreading both their legs as he positions himself. Fenris’s hands move partially underneath Hawke, his elbows on the bed, kissing her deep. She is holding him so close, so tightly, in place for Sebastian to press himself against Fenris, his cock entering him slowly, bit by bit. It’s _good_ , Sebastian’s eyes closed and lost to the feeling.

Fenris is the first one to move, back to fuck himself upon Sebastian’s cock, and forward inside of Hawke. His hips move slowly at first, but grow in tempo, Hawke’s legs shaking around him. Sebastian keeps his hands on him always, comforting touches on his back and ribs, tight on his hips. Hawke is all tight heat, clenching around him, while Sebastian has him feeling so full. Sebastian has begun to move against him, matching Fenris’s rhythm, pushing him deeper into Hawke.

“Please,” Hawke is babbling, her mouth against Fenris’s cheek, “please, please, _please_.”

“Maker,” Sebastian grunts, his hands bruising onto Fenris’s hips as he slams against him, slapping against flesh, his hand running the length of his spine, bending over to kiss Fenris’s back again and again and again. Fenris is all but silent, breathing heavily, his eyes closed and his mouth open, focusing on the feeling of them both, losing themselves to him, to him, to him.

“I’m – ah – I’m – _Fenris_ ,” Hawke is crying out, her legs squeezing tightly against them, her feet against Sebastian. Sebastian is murmuring his name as well, his breaths growing shorter, his hips stuttering in rhythm as he pounds against him relentlessly. Both of them, worshipping him, loving him, and he comes unraveled, spilling his seed inside of Hawke.

* * *

The Hanged Man is as it should be. All loud voices, boisterous cheering and drinking. There’s ale spilled on the floor, some of this week’s mystery soup as well. Isabela is relinquishing her deck of cards, Varric closely inspecting every last one. She’s not allowed to deal again, but she only laughs, her arm over Merrill’s shoulder. “I’m telling you,” she’s saying, “they’re all fine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric grumbles, having lost three sovereigns to her this month alone. Hawke has one elbow on the table, smiling as she raises the mug of ale to her lips. Fenris is close by, as is Sebastian. They share knowing glances with each other, but nothing more than that. Varric has kept his word, said nothing to the others. In the weeks since Danarius, they’ve managed to let no hint of their relationship escape. They did not know that Fenris’s mansion lay truly empty now, and that Sebastian’s room in the Chantry had gained cobwebs.

While Anders and Aveline are arguing about Darktown this, Darktown that, Sebastian moves to sit beside Hawke. “Elthina believes I am no longer a good fit for the Chantry,” he tells her. Her fingers drifts over the rim of her cup and she snorts with amusement. “She’s asked me to come and speak with her tonight.”

“I’m sure Elthina knows how important the Chantry is to you,” Hawke says.

“The Chantry wants itself to be the most important thing to its followers. That is no longer true with me,” Sebastian says, his eyes lingering upon her. Under the table, Hawke’s fingers find his, and their hands wind for a small squeeze.

The door to the Hanged Man slams open, and the man who stands there takes only a brief glance over the crowd before he races towards Hawke’s table. “Champion,” he shouts breathlessly, “please, come quickly!” Hawke is instantly on her feet.

“What’s going on?”

“The Knight-Commander has gathered Templars and the Grand Enchanter his mages! They are at each other’s throats.” Hawke presses a hand to her forehead, and when it comes away, a frown takes its place. She looks at the table, at the others who are also moving to their feet. Varric with Bianca in his arms, Isabela with a hand over her daggers. Merrill and her staff, Aveline and her shield, Anders with Justice burning. Sebastian is still at her side. Fenris gives her a small nod.

“Lead us,” she tells the runner. He doesn’t take them very far, rounding the winding corners of Lowtown, right at the edges. Meredith and Orsino face each other, yelling and pointing, their entourages staring only at each other. The Templars look ready. The mages are far past what could be called anger.

“Enough,” Hawke says as she marches up between the both of them.

“This does not involve you, Champion,” Meredith hisses. Hawke raises her eyebrows, her face showing utter disdain.

“It is when the two of you threaten war on the streets,” she says, pointing at the two gathered groups. “Haven’t you done enough to Kirkwall already?”

“I have protected this city time and again,” Meredith says, hackles raised, rising to Hawke’s challenge.

“Arguing will get us nowhere,” Orsino says. Hawke moves to agree until, “Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this.”

“You will not bring her Grace into this,” Meredith says, crushing her hand upon Orsino’s shoulders, dragging him back.

“The Grand Cleric cannot help you!” Meredith and Orsino turn, as it is not Hawke’s voice, but another’s. Anders steps forward, the staff in his hands. “I will not stand by and what you treat all mages like criminals, while those who would lead us bow to their Templar jailors. The Circle has failed us. The time has come to act. There can be no half-measure,” he says, tapping his staff against the ground.

“Anders,” Hawke says it slowly, “what have you done?”

“There can be no turning back.” They feel underneath their feet first. The rumble that’s almost gentle, the shaking of stones upon the ground. The dirt shifts, the air turns, the Chantry burns bright red. A light that reaches up to the heavens, pulls apart the building brick by brick, casting it across the city.

“Elthina,” Sebastian’s hollow voice. “I was to go speak with her. I was to be there right now. If I had not-” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. If he hadn’t given into Hawke and Fenris’s pleas to come with them, he would be dead right now. He would be _dead_.

That’s the only thing Hawke can think about. Not the swirling dark in the sky, the fires spreading across Kirkwall. Not the screaming, not the shouting, nothing at all. Hawke turns, her fists in Anders’s robes as Sebastian begins the Chant. “The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic, the Chantry destroyed.” Meredith is putting the pieces together, every reason for her to annihilate the mages just handed to her. “As knight-commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed – immediately,” she says. Hawke throws Anders to the ground.

“You can’t,” Hawke says.

“I can. I will. Stand with them and you share their fate,” Meredith tells Hawke. Hawke’s eyes narrow.

“I can live with that,” Hawke tells her coolly. Meredith pushes Hawke back with a gauntleted fist, begins to make her way towards the Gallows. With a flick of her hand, the other Templars are drawing their swords, moving against Hawke and the others, moving against the mages.

Hawke loved her father. He taught her how to control the swirling storm inside her, the tempest of power. She remembers her laughter. A hand on her head when she had done well. Bethany had the lightest laughter. You couldn’t help but laugh along with her, treasure every smile given to you. Carver was so determined. In everything he did. He found the strength when others might be empty. Her mother, always so proud of her babies. They all looked after each other.

She doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve this family she’s found. Fenris and Sebastian who love her. Merrill with her smiles, Isabela with her laughter. Varric and Aveline, proud and focused. They stand by her side, they fight with her, and they protect each other. Hawke loves her family, each and every one of them. She wouldn’t allow any harm to come to them.

The remaining mages flee when they cut down the last of the Templars who stand in their way. Hawke is breathing hard, the staff light in her hands. She drops it when she turns to face him. “Hawke, I-” Anders is beginning to speak but Hawke shoves him hard, her hands against his chest. She shoves him again and again and again. All she can see is Sebastian among the rubble, lifeless and bloody, along with all the other bodies. Another shove.

“Get out,” her voice starts low, “Get out!” She’s moving to scream. “Get out, get out, get out of my city!”

“Hawke, please,” Anders is trying to plead with her but she’s turning her back to him, picking up her staff, moving in the direction of the Gallows. The others walk by him in silence, not speaking to him, not looking at him. Anders leaves his staff where it lays. He joins the frightened citizens of Kirkwall, blends into the crowd and disappears.

The mages treat Hawke with a sort of frightened reverence. She’s carved a bloody path to the Gallows, through Templar and the like, to stand at their defense. The Gallows has had its first taste of blood, and it is that of the Templars, courtesy of Hawke. Aveline stands in the room with all the others, goes to Hawke. “One entrance, a good choke point,” she says. Something they’ll need. They are outnumbered.

“We can’t let them reach the mages,” Hawke says.

“Yes.” Aveline says this knowing it will be she and Fenris standing side by side, a wall that the Templars will crash into. She puts a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, gives it a reassuring shake. “We’re with you,” she says. Hawke moves to speak to each and every one of them. Varric’s reassurances covered by a smile and joke. Merrill’s scattered thoughts, all leading to one point – they will win. Isabela’s complaints of being in another battle. Hawke had stood by her before. Isabela would not abandon her now.

Sebastian opens his arms to her. She takes the offer gratefully. Her arms wrap around his neck, his arms around her waist. “I’m so sorry about Elthina,” she murmurs. His hold on her tightens, and he sighs. “If you had – Sebastian. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“We will make it through this. All of us. And then we’ll go home,” Sebastian tells her. They pull apart slowly, wanting to touch more, to feel each other, to know that here they stand.

“I do not care what the others think,” Fenris says to her. “I cannot bear the thought of living without you.” He moves towards her, his hand at the back of her neck, the other hand at her waist. The kiss is messy, desperate and Hawke pretends like she doesn’t hear Isabela cheering. “Be safe. We guard your back.” He says this as they pull away from one another, his hands on her face.

They wait for the Templars to march. Fenris and Sebastian stand beside each other. Sebastian reaches out, fingertips at Fenris’s. Their touch is small, brief, and not enough. They pull away when they hear the marching at the gates. Fenris takes his place beside Aveline. Hawke and Merrill stand behind them, magic at the ready. Varric and Sebastian cover each side, to shower the Templars in arrows before they can reach the others.

The other mages are scared, shrinking behind Hawke. She can only hope they will fight hard when the time comes. When it does come, it is chaos. The air magic hangs heavy, being fought against by the biting power of the Templars. Shield crashes against shield, and Aveline is shoving them away, pushing them back, creating openings for Fenris to move in and strike. Isabela catches all those who slip through, a dagger at their throats, and she is off towards the next.

Varric and Sebastian take careful aim for all the soft spots in the Templar armor. The openings at the neck, the soft mesh at the joints. Merrill is winding branches over the bridge, tripping some Templars, stopping others. They are not making this fight easy for them. Hawke has her eyes closed, reaching for that storm in her center, unleashing the blizzard upon them. The Templars are clearing as much as they can, drinking lyrium bottles en-masse, and casting their silences. For each mage they take down, another is ready to take their place.

The horde begins to thin, the Templars streaming in in slammer groups, until they enter not at all. Hawke takes this moment to breathe, a hand on her knee, bending over as she searches for what mana remains. Merrill is doing much the same. Fenris, Aveline and Isabela are bloodied, but all it takes is a glance to know that it is not their blood.

“What now?” Varric asks, breaking the silence.

“We go to the Courtyard,” Hawke says. She turns to face Orsino and the remaining mages. “We’ll cover your escape. Leave the city, go to another Circle if you want to. You’ll be safer away from the city.”

“They’ll know we lived, that we escaped,” Orsino says, “they’ll hunt us.”

“We’ll figure out some way to keep them off your trail,” Varric says. Hawke takes the first weary steps towards the exit, deep breaths and squaring her shoulders. She feels the tired ache in every part of her, begs that it does not show.

“Champion,” Meredith says as Hawke steps down to meet her, “where is Orsino?”

“Dead,” Hawke tells her.

“Just as you should be. An apostate come into our city, gathering power and influence. A sudden hero of the people? How can I trust that the mighty Champion of Kirkwall is not a worse threat to this city than the Circle?”

“You can’t be serious,” Hawke says.

“The people of Kirkwall will mourn your loss, but it is inevitable,” Meredith says as she draws her sword.

“Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to arrest the Champion,” Cullen says, stepping forward. Meredith recoils at the sudden disobedience, the questioning of her orders.

“You will do as I command, Cullen,” Meredith says.

“No. I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. But this is too far.” The sword in Meredith’s hands glow at her anger, her fury, and her _righteous_ cause. Red-lyrium. Hawke doesn’t need Varric’s outcry to recognize what it is.

“All of you are weak,” Meredith is saying, turning on her own followers. “You’ve allowed the mages to control your mind, to turn you against me! But I don’t need any of you! I will protect this city myself!” With Meredith, they get a glance at what Bartrand could have become. She launches herself forward at inhumane speed, with inhumane strength, crashing into Hawke.

Meredith wrestles her to the ground, raising her sword above her head. Aveline, the battering ram that she is, pounds into Meredith, forcing her off of Hawke. Sebastian helps her to her feet, and the battle begins in earnest. Whatever remains of Hawke’s mana, she pours it into protection of the others. A barrier around Fenris as he races towards Meredith, a silver snake, his bite deadly and biting. Another around Sebastian as Meredith is backing away, allowing him to let his arrows fly without interruption.

There are tendrils of red-lyrium emerging from the sword, wrapping themselves around Meredith’s wrist, burrowing under her skin. She crackles with red lightning, her eyes glowing with it. It’s like hammering at a fortress, and their swords do not pierce her skin. Hawke races forward, using force magic to keep Meredith at bay. She puts a hand on Fenris’s back. “We need to fight lyrium with lyrium. Stay back until you see an opening,” she says to him.

He allows Aveline to take the primary offensive, Isabela distracting at Meredith’s back. Sebastian’s arrows bounce off of Meredith, like trying to shoot rock. Instead, he reaches for his belt, and with a cry of “Hawke!” tosses her a lyrium flask. She downs it gratefully, fights to keep Meredith off balance with a bit of pressure here, a shove there.

Fenris is slinking around the edges of the fight, his markings beginning to glow. Hawke pushes just there, Aveline continuing the blow, Isabela stabbing again, and again, trying to find a chink in the armor. Meredith wavers, and that is when he strikes. Through her back, his hand emerging out the other side. He pulls it back, crushes the heart in her chest.

They all step back as something begins to whine inside of Meredith, like flint against steel, a rising cry that forces them to cover their ears. The lyrium from the sword is all but inside of Meredith now, covering her, melting her, making her stone. A twisted statue, Meredith’s face forever encased in an expression of horror.

* * *

“They say that the Divine wishes to enact an Exalted March. Her Seekers will be here soon, to find you,” Sebastian says, reading the letter. Hawke sits on the couch, elbows on her knees, hands on her face. Fenris’s hands clench into fists.

“They will not take Hawke. We need to leave,” he says.

“Where will we go? The Chantry has influence everywhere. The only place is doesn’t is Tevinter, and I can’t ask you to go there,” she says. Fenris shakes his head as he rises to his feet, paces a frustrated path, a concerned one.

“You cannot stay here. I will not allow them to take you.” As Fenris speaks, Sebastian sits in a chair opposite Hawke. He studies her, and then Fenris.

“You need protection,” he says. Hawke and Fenris both look at him. “From someone with an army that can keep the Divine at bay.”

“No one will want to take in an apostate mage. No one wants the Champion of Kirkwall,” she says. “I need – I need-”

“You need the King of Starkhaven,” Sebastian says.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows the Champion of Kirkwall fights at Sebastian’s side. Leads his forces. What a scandal it will be when the same explosion that took the Kirkwall chantry takes the Starkhaven palace. I wonder how many would support a King willing to go to such lengths. Allowing a terrorist such as yourself to run wild.

Those who oppose them learn what it is to fear. Men in the front, with their shields and their spears, knuckles white at the approaching army. Is the demon among them? They aren’t sure yet. They crash into each other, a cacophony of noise and metal and their eyes flit from warrior to warrior. The whisper passes through the rank. The _Champion_. The only mage on the battlefield. She clears a path, sending soldiers flying with a wave of her hand. A storm of electricity, an inferno that rages. Their own soldiers laugh with her at their side. And those who oppose them fear, those who oppose them die, those who oppose them run. It takes only a few of these battles before the surrender comes first. 

They know what it is to fear during negotiations. The quick-tongued silver elf with the dry wit and cunning mind. They sit opposite the table and sweat, kneading their grubby hands together as he measures them up – finds them unworthy. He cuts deepest into things they thought no one else would know, finds their weaknesses. Deadly silence mixed with few piercing words. Allies are secured swiftly and easily. Starkhaven is learning exactly which side is the winning one. The true King comes. 

Hawke laughs as she ties her hair back, mud underneath her boots, different fires roaring. She sits with the soldiers long into the night, sharing stories, drink and food. Sebastian has entrusted her with leading his armies while he and Fenris fight a more political war. She’d never had the patience for politics. The only thing she found difficult was the split. Sebastian and Fenris travelled together. She was alone. Her tent stayed cold, although many a soldier had offered to take her to their bed. Instead she counts down the days to when their paths would cross next. 

She goes where she is directed by breathless runners. They take estate after estate, castle after castle. Most allow them passage through, greet the Champion at the gates. They bow and they make platitudes, offering food and shelter. Battle is where Hawke truly shines. Battle is where she can lose herself, staff twirling in one hand, magic in the fist of the other. She pretends she doesn’t hear the whispers about the King’s pet mage bitch. She pretends she doesn’t hear the accusations that a ruined Kirkwall is her fault alone. Being alone is harder than she thought it might be. 

The next runner brings an invitation. A gathering of their forces, finally linking together to take the fight to the royal palace and the pretender upon the throne. She holds the parchment in her hands, hides the smile by biting her bottom lip. Her heart hammers quickly in her chest as she dismisses the runner. Alone in her tent she stamps her feet and laughs, pressing the letter to her chest. The letter had been sealed for her eyes alone. Two signatures at the bottom. 

Starkhaven is greener than Kirkwall, lush green hills, rolling pastures. The horse shifts below Hawke as she waits, squinting underneath the bright sun, and the breeze in her hair. At last, she sees them. A small party of riders, his crown glinting in sunlight. She rides out to meet them, reigns tight in her hands. “My King,” she says, “your army awaits you.” Sebastian smiles, Fenris trotting up beside her. Too many whispers in Sebastian’s inner circle of needing a wife, an heir, for them to greet each other the way they wish. That comes later. 

Hawke leads the way as Sebastian makes his way down the rank and file, each and every soldier bowing their heads to their King. Fenris stays close by, saying nothing, not looking at the soldiers. He keeps his eyes on their backs, the ease in which Hawke sits, the stiff line of Sebastian. In the King’s tent, Hawke and Fenris flank him. Advisors are chattering on the other side, moving ivory pieces around a marked map. “If we can secure the support of the MacCallan’s, we’ll be cutting off every route to the palace,” one is saying. 

“The MacCallan’s have cast their support with Goran from the first. They were likely one of the first to prop him up!” 

“They’ll see the tides changing. We need only have the entrance into the city, secure the throne and deal with the traitors afterwards!” Sebastian is rubbing the space between his brows, listening to them argue. Hawke has her arms crossed, biting at the skin around her thumb. Fenris is the only one who seems to be listening intently, leaning on the table, frowning at the map. 

“We need to secure allies from outside of Starkhaven. An unbreakable alliance. My lord, you need to take a wife as soon as possible.” The advisor narrows his eyes at Hawke. “A wife of proper breeding and noble blood,” he says. At that Fenris looks up, from the advisor straight to Hawke. She wants to laugh. Proper _breeding_ , as though she were a dog. She looks at the ambassador and the smirk that she wears does not reach her eyes. Sebastian raises his hand. 

“That's enough for today. We’ll discuss the assault on the palace tomorrow,” Sebastian dismisses them in a casual tone. The group of them look appalled, as though they wish to protest. Instead they stiffen, they bow, and they obey their king’s command and leave the tent. Hawke’s head immediately falls to Sebastian’s shoulder as she sighs. 

“They’re not wrong,” she says to the floor, “it would strengthen your position. You’re the last of the Vael’s. You need –” 

“I need you,” Sebastian says. “I need you both.” He shifts, catching her face in his hands, tilting her face to look at him. His smile is warm, his eyes bright and she softens into him. Arms winding around his shoulders, standing on her toes to plant a desperate kiss. Then she pulls away and punches Sebastian in the chest. A light thing, a playful thing. 

“It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you and the first thing you do is drag me into a damn war council!” Fenris covers his mouth as he laughs, rounds the table to stand on Hawke’s other side. It takes one finger on her chin to turn her face towards his, capture her lips in a kiss. 

“We missed you as well Hawke,” he says. She fakes a pout before she laughs, swallowing Fenris in a hug, squeezing him tightly. Despite her earlier protest, they stand around that table for hours longer. Hawke, completely bent over with her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, frowning as Fenris outlines their current situation. 

“We have the advantage in numbers, but they hold the advantage in the city. Goran, or those puppeteering him, have shown they are willing to use civilians to cage us,” Fenris says. 

“The trebuchets will knock down the pretty walls of the castle you want to take, along with killing countless innocents. They’re trapped inside the city. They’ll lock their doors and stay inside, die to things they can’t see. They have the advantage of walls, so if we use the ladders it will be bloody. We have the numbers now, but we’ll lose many in this fight,” Hawke says. Sebastian rubs his chin, frowns at the map. 

“There is another way.” She says it quietly as she stands up straight. “Send a small force inside the castle. If there is no puppet, the rest will fall apart.” Sebastian and Fenris both share a glance. 

“It is the less bloody option. It is also the less honorable,” Fenris says. “We would also need to find a route inside the city and the castle without attracting attention. We also need to consider what damage such a tactic would do to –” 

“No,” Sebastian says, “we’re not doing that.” 

“Why not? It’s not as though they haven’t done the same. The Flint Mercenaries? How many Crows have they sent to kill you?” Hawke demands.

“Three, so far,” Fenris answers instantly. 

“Or at least three that have made themselves known. We’ve also made allies of former enemies. We may hold some loyalty for now, but it’s not a given. We’re in a precarious position where we might need to say fuck honor and end this quickly,” Hawke says. 

“We are not them. I will not play their games. If we do this, we do it the right way,” Sebastian says. Hawke shifts on her feet, sighs, before shrugging. 

“We’d need ships to blockade the Minanter River, and then we could starve the city. They’d surrender quickly if they had no food,” Fenris says. 

“There are plenty of stores within the city. The general populace would starve. The nobles would not,” Sebastian says. 

“Which would incite riots that would further destabilize the city,” Hawke says. “The MacCallan’s are the last of these guessed traitors that linger outside the city. They know that even if they side with us, there is no guarantee they survive your ascension. We should take the castle by force, get it over with, which would give us a good hold over the region. Maybe give us a path to smuggle food inside the city for those we want to give to. It would also gain us citizen support.” 

“The MacCallan territory is fields and crops. I will not have it burnt to the ground for the sake of a castle.” 

“You’re not giving us many options,” Fenris says, “I know you wish to do the right thing, but this is war. Sacrifice is inevitable.” Hawke reaches across the table, takes Sebastian’s hand in hers. The guilt pounds heavily at her chest. If not for Kirkwall, if not for her, Sebastian would never have been in this position. She knows what a good man he is. Forcing him into this… he squeezes her hand and gives her a smile. 

“Then we’ll take the MacCallan castle. We’ll move on the royal palace shortly after,” Sebastian says as Hawke moves around the table, settling herself in between the two of them. Ivory figures go rolling as she sweeps the table with an arm. She hops up onto the table, her hands fisting in Sebastian’s tunic, pulling him forward, her legs around his waist. 

“Something for the morning,” she says, “show me how much you’ve missed me.” As she kisses Sebastian, Fenris begins to undo the buttons on her shirt. He slips a hand inside, groans as his hand finds her breast. One of Hawke’s hands slips from Sebastian’s chest to Fenris, palming his cock through his breeches, feeling his length already beginning to harden. Sebastian pauses in the kiss, pulls away as the shouting from outside draws nearer. 

“Champion! Hawke! My Lady!” Hawke groans as she buttons her shirt back up, hopping off the table just in time as a panting soldier bursts into the tent. 

“This had better be fucking important,” she growls, bristling at her second in command. 

“Forces have ridden outside of the city. They march on the encampment!” He says, standing straight as he catches his breath. Hawke immediately barks out a short laugh. 

“What? That’s bloody stupid of them.” Then she goes silent, frowning, crossing her arms, fingers tapping as she thinks. Why leave the city and the safety of walls? “Something else is going on,” she murmurs. 

“Angus. Assemble a few hundred of the men. We’ll be taking the ladders and assaulting the city directly. Fenris. Take the rest of the troops and meet these forces on the field. Keep Sebastian in sight with you at all times,” Hawke is saying as she pulls on pieces of her armor, hopping around as she shoves her foot into a boot. Angus is looking between all three before Hawke stands, hands on her hips. “Now, Angus!” He’s off at a breakneck speed. 

“They’ll need light to see. Set the archers upon them first. It won’t be hard – aim for the fire. Keep our troops in the dark,” Hawke is saying as she reaches for her staff. 

“You don’t know what waits inside the city,” Sebastian says, shaking his head. 

“Which is why you and Fenris will stay on the field. A battle is simple. Do not come inside the city until I find you, understand?” 

“I don’t like this,” Fenris says, stepping into agreement with Sebastian. 

“This solves our problems. Meet the last of the resistance, beat them down until they surrender. I’ll find Goran – I won’t kill him – and you can decide what to do with him later. Just… let me clear the city. Be safe,” Hawke gives them both swift kisses on the cheek before she’s gone, racing after Angus. 

Her hair’s been getting long. There hasn’t been time to cut it. It streams out behind her as she runs, soldiers falling into formation around her. The camp begins to split into two halves as orders are given out. As she runs, she can see the lights cresting the hill. Fenris would be a terror on the field. They’d learn what he can do when negotiations fail. She almost laughs. 

Angus beside her, they race towards the city. They carry ladders on their backs, hooks affixed to every section. The defense of the walls is meagre. Breath becomes visible in the air as Hawke focuses on the few archers firing down upon them. Shields are raised, arrows bouncing off metal as they find their mark. The archers would be shivering now, their aim unsteady, the stone icy. This far away, she could do no more. 

One by one the ladders go up, finding purchase upon the walls. Soldiers begin to climb immediately. Archers and Hawke keep an eye on the battlements, take down those who try to dislodge the ladders. It takes only a few soldiers to cement their hold, allow the rest to climb upwards. “Sweep the battlements,” Hawke says, “find the rest.” A wave of unease washes over her. There should be more, there should be _more_. Why leave the city defenseless? 

Their troops surround the city and the MacCallan estate. The mountains would bar any escape they could not cover. Advantage in numbers… they’d need to pull every soldier they had to try and break through Sebastian’s line. Hawke is biting her bottom lip as she runs again, Angus and a few others at her side, down the walls and through the streets. The palace sits by the banks of the Minanter, a marvel of marble. 

The streets are empty, people inside their homes with the doors barred. Whatever is happening, they want no part of it. Soldiers fight soldiers, and Sebastian had long ago proven that he would keep the civilians safe. The braziers of the palace are lit, although their footsteps empty in the hall. “What way to the main hall?” Hawke asks. Angus immediately points and off they go. They find the door barred from the _outside_. 

Hawke is frowning as she reaches out, clenches her hand into a fist. In her mind’s eye, she is reaching for the wood planks nailed across the door. She grabs a tight hold, begins to pull. One by one, the planks fly off, leaving the door exposed, allowing them to push it open. They’re greeted by sobbing servants, shouting and yelling, thanking the soldiers briefly as they run out of the hall. At the end of the hall sits Goran, tied to his throne. The crown sits upon his head. 

“Champion,” he greets her as she makes her way down the hall. “So nice to finally meet you.” 

“Where are your masters?” Hawke asks. 

“Left me to die. They fight with the rest of the army, I imagine, to get as far away from the city as possible,” Goran tells her. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Everyone knows the Champion of Kirkwall fights at Sebastian’s side. Leads his forces. What a scandal it will be when the same explosion that took the Kirkwall chantry takes the Starkhaven palace. I wonder how many would support a King willing to go to such lengths. Allowing a terrorist such as yourself to run wild,” Goran smiles. Little grease of a man. Hawke snarls as she makes her way up the dais, snatches the crown from his head. “You’re lucky I have no wish to die. There are three bombs inside the palace, although I’m not sure where they are.” 

“Leave him there,” Hawke waves Angus away from the throne, and he sheathes the knife back into his belt. “We split into three groups. Find the bombs. When you find one, remove the drakestone, and then help the others find the rest. Understood?” Their eyes have dark circles underneath them. Their nods are hollow, sweat beading on their brows. All understand that if they fail, more than just the false king would die. 

Just as Hawke had told him, Fenris keeps Sebastian in sight at all times. He had insisted on fighting with his soldiers, wearing that damnably white armor of his, bow in his hands. He lets fly arrow after arrow, through the air, finding their mark either against flesh or metal. The generals are easy to spot. They wear armor more ornate, feathered and jeweled. The order has gone out to find them, capture them. 

Fenris weaves around soldiers, slicing down any who draw too near to Sebastian. The beat of the battle is in their favor, in their numbers and the advantage of territory. Those who fight them, fight hard, with a sense of desperation. It only makes Fenris more wary of what could be going on inside the city. Lyrium ignites, a glowing blur that tears through man after man, sword biting into armor. The surrenders do not take long. 

“MacCallan. Cowan. Lennox.” Helmets pulled off one by one, the three generals on the field. The puppet masters. If they had not already been dealt with, Sebastian had no doubt he would have found one of the Harimann’s here today. “Where is Goran?” Just like in Kirkwall, they hear it first. The rumble that’s almost gentle. Stones shaking upon the ground. It’s silent, before it happens. The grass shifts, the air turns. A single red beam that goes up, begins to blink, muted before it is snuffed out. Then the explosion rocks one section of the palace. 

Fenris is moving instantly, racing down the field towards the gates of the city. Sebastian stalks forward towards the three. “What have you done?” His voice is cold, as icy as Hawke’s magic. 

“Failed, apparently,” Lennox says. His voice is almost bored. “There were supposed to be three. And the explosion was meant to be much more spectacular than _that_.” Fenris is barking orders at soldiers. Those who are not guarding the prisoners go with him, through the gates, through the streets. Towards the section of palace that is smoking ruin. 

One of the back wings, a small section by any means. A single wall that has caved in, a hole torn through the ceiling. In the center lies a perfect circle of rubble. The soldiers work quickly, pulling off stone after stone, revealing the flickering barrier. Hawke at its center, bloodied and tired, relieved as the barrier goes down. Angus and her other soldiers unharmed, keeping her standing. She collapses in Fenris’s arms with a smile. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “I wasn’t fast enough to stop it completely. Knew you’d find me.” Half of her is singed, burnt. Silver metal that once shined is now blackened and ashy. Her hair is no longer so long. The crown is still in her hands. Fenris holds her tight in his arms, carries her away from the rubble. 

She wakes in a bed softer than anything she’s slept in for the past few weeks. Her hands immediately go to her face, to her arms, trying to find the burns and failing. Healed. She sits up, wearing a light shift, struggles to make sense of the situation. Fenris is at her side as soon as he sees she is awake, sitting on the side of the bed, frowning as he takes her face in his hands. “I thought… we’d lost you,” Fenris says, squeezing his eyes closed. Their foreheads press against each other as Hawke clings to him. 

“There was a moment… Is everyone safe? Angus? The others?” 

“Yes, they’re safe. Sebastian is with the judges. The trial against Goran and the others is happening now,” Fenris says. 

“Shouldn’t you be there?” 

“We both wanted to stay with you,” Fenris says softly, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. “They needed the King. You needed me.” Fenris pulls open the blankets as Hawke lies back down, Fenris beside her. 

“You frightened me. Do not do anything like that again,” he scolds. She laughs softly, her nose brushing against his. He stretches out over her, closing his eyes as he sighs, feeling her hands underneath his tunic. Elbows on the bed, he touches at the shortened locks of Hawke’s hair. Uneven and choppy, he’d need to fix it for her later. Her face tilts upwards as fingertips find his shoulder blades. 

Her hand splays out as she pulls him down closer, flattening him against her. “I thought I wouldn’t make it in time,” she whispers. “It was meant to look like the Chantry explosion. It was meant to look like it was _me_ \- that _I_ -” She takes deep shuddering breath. “It started to spark when I found it. I could barely think, the flames were…” She breaks off into silence. 

“You are unharmed,” he presses a kiss to her cheek. “You are safe and Starkhaven is ours. You will always be safe.” He plants kisses down her jaw, her neck. She keeps him tight against her even as his lips find hers, a hand threading through his hair as his mouth opens to her, tongue wet and warm. They take their time with it, lingering in long kisses, slow and easy, hands sweeping over the other. Safe, safe, safe. An affirmation that she is unscathed, unburnt, Fenris’s hand moving over her thigh, pushing up her shift. 

Her hands quickly move to his lacings, shifting beneath him. They rock slowly together, Hawke’s legs locked around his waist. Her hands are still travelling on his back, feeling the way his muscles move, the shift of his shoulders. She follows his spine, all the way down, her feet pressing against him. His head is on the pillow beside hers, his arms underneath her. He listens to her breathe against him, those deep inhales, and the quick exhales. Safe. 

She squeezes her eyes closed, her mouth against his shoulder, hands shaking into fists. “Hawke,” in that low voice of his, heady and carnal, as though her name were a prayer. “Hawke.” He groans as she tightens, her breathing coming quicker, her leg shaking against him. “ _Hawke_.” She can still feel the blinding heat. That flash of brilliant light. The moment when she thought she’d never see them again. The desperation in the barrier as she screamed, flames licking up the side of her. 

Fenris’s hand replaces that imaginary heat on her cheek, kissing her forehead as his hips roll against hers. Blue eyes water, but he chases the tears away. “Hawke,” he says quietly, “I have you.” _Safe_. Holding each other tighter, closer, her hands grabbing a bunch of his shirt, heels of her feet pressing against him, encouraging him deeper inside. 

“Fen,” a peaceful murmur, feeling him and only him, filling her up, spilling his seed.

* * *

Hawke is plainly amused, her legs crossed, an elbow on the armrest. Her chin against her fist, smiling as she watches the advisors batter at Sebastian. “We’ll need to make repairs to the damaged portion of the palace, as well as take stock of food,” one is saying. 

“The trade routes need to be better protected. There have been reports of bandits in the area.” 

“If you would take a wife and produced and heir there would be less concern of-” It’s the same thing every day. The same arguments circling about one another, each advisor shouting over the other. She and Fenris share a look from across the table, hiding their grins as they look at Sebastian. He sighs, rubbing his forehead, the crown sitting neatly upon his head. MacCallan, Cowan, Lennox and Goran have all been executed some days past. The people have accepted and rejoiced at the return of the true Vael. 

“Enough!” Sebastian’s fist crashes against the table, silencing all the useless noise. “You. Charter a mason to see to the repairs of the palace. You. Take as many servants as you need, ensure the food stores are filled. You. Gather a few men from the army, have them patrol the trade routes.” 

“There is still the matter of a wife, my King.” Hawke’s eyebrows raise. Bold man. He sits opposite Sebastian, his look dark, his hands clasped. She makes a face at Fenris, and he turns away to hide his smile. “You cannot marry the Champion.” All playfulness gone, her eyes narrow as she turns to look at this advisor. “She has run from Ferelden. All of Kirkwall has seen her ‘care’. Now the Chantry hunts for her. We cannot harbor such a criminal here, let alone let our King take her for a wife.” 

“Who I marry is my decision, not yours,” Sebastian says coolly. 

“You cannot marry a Ferelden dog of low birth!” 

“Oh, my grandfather surely would have loved to hear you say that,” Hawke says, tapping her fingers against her chin. “He’s probably rolling in his grave right now.” 

“She is the Lady Amell and all of Kirkwall knows what she has done, how she has kept the city safe. She was not made Champion lightly. Have you forgotten that I was there with her? Have you forgotten how many victories she brought us? How she captured the palace? Saved lives by diffusing the bombs that were planted, at the risk of her own life?” Sebastian has his arms crossed as he speaks. 

“The rumors-” 

“Are rumors. There will be no more talk of this,” Sebastian ends the conversation with firm words, dismissing them with a wave. Fenris and Hawke both stay seated, watching the others leave. 

“The more you favor us, the more they’ll resent you,” Fenris says. “From now on, we won’t be attending these meetings.” Hawke sighs as she runs a hand through her hair. Fenris had cut it evenly for her, cropped close to her head. She still kept those wild bangs of hers, tucking a particularly long piece behind her ear. 

“He’s right Sebastian. You should look at these… marriage suggestions as well,” Hawke says. She and Fenris are wearing identical frowns, not looking at him, knitting their hands together. 

“If I can’t marry you, I’ll marry Fenris. I’m sure they’d love that,” Sebastian says as he sulks in his chair. Hawke smiles, leans forward to pat Sebastian’s hand. 

“Give it time. We need distance from Kirkwall. You’ve only just become King. People are still accepting that.” Her thumb brushes over his knuckles as she speaks. “With the mages and the Templars at war, Kirkwall being where it started…” her hand falls back to her lap. “Time. The war will end.” She pushes herself up from the chair, knocks her knuckles against the table as she leaves. 

Fenris turns to Sebastian as the door closes behind her. “She’s right. Attention will shift elsewhere. Be patient, and all will come together.” 

“You would make a better King than me,” Sebastian says. “I don’t know how to rule. How to manage all of these hens clucking at me.” 

“You’ll learn. You will be an excellent King,” Fenris says as he stands, his hand at the back of Sebastian’s chair as he leans over, kisses him. 

“I’m better at following orders than giving them,” Sebastian mutters. 

“Are you?” Fenris smirks. “Get on your knees.” Sebastian drops instantly, the chair pushing out behind him. Fenris looks down at him, runs a hand through muddy red hair, taking the crown from his head. He places it on his own, gold nesting in silver. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes as Sebastian moves his fingers to undo Fenris’s lacings. The hand in Sebastian’s hair tightens at the first tease of his tongue, the wet running the underside of his hardening cock. Fenris casts his gaze downwards once again as Sebastian takes him in completely, lips glistening with spit. His eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed, mouth full of his cock. 

“What would your advisors think,” Fenris says as he tucks a curl in its proper place, “to see you like this? On your knees before an elf.” Sebastian’s eyes open, that piercing blue that strikes like lightning down Fenris’s spine. His hands grip the back of Fenris’s thighs, tongue dabbing at the salt that beads, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Fenris groans, his back hunching, a hand tight on Sebastian’s shoulder. He leans himself harder against the table, the wood biting into his ass, to keep himself from thrusting forward, from shoving himself even further down Sebastian’s throat. 

Sebastian works at him with a vengeance, payment for Fenris’s words. His tongue swirls around the head of his cock, one hand cupping his balls and rolling them gently in his hand. He’s pulling down Fenris’s pants even further, gripping his ass, pressing a finger against his asshole. “Ven-venhe… _dis_ ,” the word is broken and cracked in Fenris’s mouth, and for a moment, Sebastian smirks. It’s in every movement, each squeeze, each touch, each wet line – the command, the order. _Come_. Fenris has no choice but to obey. 

Sebastian rises to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He wears a triumphant smile as he leans in and kisses Fenris, allowing him to taste the salt of himself. “I would do anything you asked of me, Fenris. Advisors be damned,” he says. Fenris surges forward, arms around Sebastian’s neck, burying the other man in kisses. Sebastian laughs as he wraps his arms around Fenris, all hard muscle and pleasing lines, a warmth like no other. 

Sebastian helps tug his pants back over his hips, humming as he ties the knot on the laces. Fenris watches him with a smile, gently placing the crown back atop his head. “It looks good on you. Make sure it stays there,” Fenris tells him. “Marry Hawke. They already call her a demon. Imagine her by your side as your Queen. Enemies would fear you, your allies would be more willing to do as you ask.” 

“With the lyrium ghost by our side,” Sebastian tells him, a hand against the back of his neck, his lips against Fenris’s temple. “Fenris you will always be our equal. We need you.” Fenris closes his eyes and looks away. 

“If Hawke bears a child and it…” he runs a finger down the length of his nose, against the tip of his ears. 

“Then I will love it all the more,” Sebastian says. 

“You need an _undeniable_ heir. It needs to be _undeniably_ yours.” 

“They will be,” Sebastian takes Fenris’s face in his hands. “Fenris, I will love any child of ours. All of them.” 

“ _All_? That you will have to negotiate with Hawke. I do not envy that discussion.” Sebastian throws back his head and laughs, taking Fenris by the hand as he moves to leave. Sebastian goes to his room first, Hawke and Fenris slip in past the guards after. They’re always gone before morning. Hawke comes to the room laughing, holding something above her head. 

“He published a book,” Hawke is laughing, “ _The Tale of the Champion_.” She leaps into the bed, resting against Sebastian. He eases his arm around her shoulders, his head knocking against hers. Fenris is on the other side of Sebastian, his hands underneath his head, his eyes closed. She’s still laughing as she flips through the pages. “He actually did it. Varric, you dog.” Her hands shake on the last page, over the last few words. 

_We vanished into the hills, and circumstance eventually forced us all to leave the Champion’s side. Well… all of us except for Fenris and Sebastian._

“Oh. _Oh_.” She flips back to the beginning of the book, pulling up her knees, beginning to read. It’s all there, from Bethany to Carver, finding Kirkwall. Finding a family in Aveline, in Varric, in Isabela, in Merrill and in Anders. In Fenris. In Sebastian. Varric skims the details of her love life, attributes Fenris and Sebastian staying with her out of something akin to undying loyalty. Little do they know. 

She looks over as she presses the book to her chest, biting her bottom lip. Sebastian and Fenris are both lying on their sides, with Sebastian curled around the elf. He holds Fenris to his chest, his face in white hair. They’re both sleeping peacefully, Fenris’s fingers twitching in dreaming on Sebastian’s arm. Her hands splay out over the cover of the book. The truth. Written down. Kirkwall wasn’t her fault. The Chantry wasn’t her fault. She places the book on the nightstand, huddles against Sebastian’s back, throwing her arm over the both of them. 

Fenris wakes first, as he always does. Eyelids heavy with sleep, struggling to open. The first rays of sun have begun to stream through the curtains, casting light over the bed. They’re all tangled together, a sea of limbs, groaning as Fenris struggles to free himself. Feet touch ground, and Hawke buries herself even closer to Sebastian, making noises of protest as she curls her arms around him. Fenris picks up the book from the nightstand, smiles at the dog-ears Hawke has made on specific pages. 

He throws back the covers to the saddened moans of both Hawke and Sebastian. “You are a cruel man,” Sebastian tells him as Hawke stretches out, legs as far as they can go, arms above her head, face scrunched together. 

“Apologies, my King,” Fenris teases, “but it’s time your harem absconded from your bed.” Hawke, in the midst of beginning to rise, falls back in peals of laughter. Sebastian kneels on the bed, wraps his arms around Fenris’s neck. He nibbles at the lobe of Fenris’s ear, his tongue tracing the shell of it, suckling at the tip. 

“Stay,” he breathes in Fenris’s ear, smiling against his cheek. His cheeks have gone red, his breathing heavy. Sebastian knows exactly what doing _that_ does to him. He does it again, tongue against his sensitive ear, fingers massaging the tip of the other. Sebastian smirks as he leans down on the bed, his legs wrapping around Fenris’s waist, a hand against his own hardening cock. Fenris licks his lips as he watches Sebastian stroke himself, expert twists, a tight grip, teasing out that first bead of pre-cum. 

“Fuck me,” Sebastian says. Fenris needs no more encouragement. Hawke is quick to move to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and tossing the vial of oil to Fenris. Then she leans back amongst the pillows, back against the headstand, knees up and legs spread, touching herself as Fenris begins to touch Sebastian. 

He pops off the top of the vial, coats his fingers in slickness. Sebastian is still stroking at himself, thumb and forefinger, running down the line of his cock. He’s leaking freely now, as Fenris presses fingers against his hole, massaging against it. Fenris is hard from watching them both, his eyes drifting over Sebastian to Hawke. She watches eagerly, a finger swirling around her clit, dipping into her cunt. The wet clings to her, just as the oil clings to him. He follows Hawke’s rhythm in Sebastian, a finger that pumps in and out. 

They take their time with it, one finger then two. Sebastian is panting at the third, his legs twitching against Fenris. With the last of the oil, Fenris covers his own cock. Hawke lets out a breathy moan as she watches Fenris press himself against Sebastian, his cock sinking inside him all the way to the hilt. Her fingers begin to move faster just as Fenris begins to move. 

His feet are firmly planted on the floor, his hands bruising into Sebastian’s hips as he slams into him again and again. Sebastian’s hands wind in the bedsheets, his cock leaking onto his belly as Fenris thrusts inside him. Hawke rises from where she’s sitting, moves over to kneel over Sebastian. His hands cling to her thighs, his tongue moving upwards, dipping into the sweet wetness of her cunt. 

She groans, her eyes closing, leaning over Sebastian towards Fenris. He moves forward, captures her lips in a kiss. One of Hawke’s hands finds its way to Fenris’s shoulder, grinding her cunt against Sebastian’s face. “Please, please, please.” Hawke always babbles as she nears the edge. 

“Lie on your stomach,” Fenris tells her. She does as he asks, her legs moving together, keeping friction against her. She watches with eyes half-lidded as Fenris pulls away from Sebastian. “Go to her,” Fenris tells him. Sebastian is crawling over Hawke hungrily, pulling up her hips, ramming himself inside to the hilt. Fenris positions himself behind Sebastian, pushing down on his back, pressing Sebastian and Hawke tightly together. Only then does he resume fucking Sebastian. 

Hawke’s feet curl around them, find a hook over Sebastian’s legs. Her fists clench in the bedsheets, her moans stifled into the pillow. Fenris runs a hand down Sebastian’s back, a worshipping touch, throwing his head back as his tempo increases, skin slapping against skin without mercy. His hands spasm on Sebastian’s hips, teeth grinding together as he cums. 

He rolls to the side of the bed, watches as Sebastian finishes Hawke, her mouth open and eyes closed, silence as she comes. She lets go of her breath, pants heavily as Sebastian rests his head against hers, one final jet of his hips. “Maker’s breath,” Sebastian murmurs as he lies on the bed. Hawke smiles, still trying to catch her runaway pulse, hugging the pillow beneath her. “We should start every day like this.” 

Fenris laughs, runs a hand through his hair, before turning to look at him. A hand drifts across Sebastian’s chest. “We should go. _This_ is a scandal you do not want.” Sebastian closes his eyes, chuckles. When he opens them again, he looks directly at Fenris. 

“I thought I’d proven to you already that this is exactly what I want.” Fenris leans over, kisses his forehead, before he slips from the bed. After a quick cleaning, Fenris and Hawke make their hasty escape to their own rooms, leaving Sebastian. He sinks into a bath, sighing in the warm water, smiling to himself. 

They find each other next in full armor, Fenris having adopted the Starkhaven insignia. His hair had gotten longer, and Fenris had taken to tying it back into a neat ponytail. White locks still drifted, framed his face, and Sebastian resisted the urge to tuck a lock behind his ear. Fenris makes a short bow when he sees him, the warm smile coming afterwards. It’s a brief thing, meant for Sebastian’s eyes only. 

“They want you inspecting the battlements today,” Fenris tells Sebastian as they walk. The dreaded ‘they’ being the advisors. “They believe that an active participation in the defense of Starkhaven will bolster the army’s confidence in you. Not that I think this is necessary.” 

“Noted,” Sebastian chuckles. Sebastian’s armor has been shined and polished, and he makes a bright figure against all the grey. White and shining, crown upon his head. Fenris walks a few paces behind Sebastian as he talks with the guards they encounter. His hands clasped behind his back, a relaxed smile on his face. Those he talked to were quickly charmed. Sebastian was easy to love. 

Sebastian turns his face to the wind, closes his eyes and smiles as he breathes deeply. Starkhaven is berries and lilies, a soft scent much different than Kirkwall. He’s still having trouble believing it himself. He’s home. He’s the King of Starkhaven. He has the two people he loves the most with him. He’s still as he drinks it in, his eyes still closed. He doesn’t see the arrow. Fenris does. Fenris shouts. Fenris moves too late. 

One. Two. The sound they make as arrows pierce armor, bury into flesh makes Fenris want to throw up. He slides to his knees, cradles Sebastian’s head in his lap. He’s screaming orders at guards, pointing them in the direction of the attacks. “Get a healer! Find Hawke!” He orders at others. His hand shakes as it moves downwards, pressing over Sebastian’s belly, pushing against the wound. 

Blood spills between his fingers, and Sebastian isn’t moving. “Sebastian.” The crown has fallen, it lies discarded upon stone. “Sebastian.” Bloody fingers against his cheek. The tears that wipe the blood away. A shadow descends and suddenly Hawke is on her knees beside Sebastian, hands glowing white as she presses them against his belly. She pulls the first arrow, and then the second, throwing them to the side. “Sebastian,” Fenris is still saying his name, in a trance, waiting for his eyes to open. 

More mages at Hawke’s side, healers and guards. A veritable crowd that separates Fenris from Sebastian. He makes an angry murmur as they pull him away. Hawke’s hand wraps around Fenris’s arm, pulls him to his feet. “We caught him,” she says as she drags him away. Fenris looks over his shoulder, at the people carrying Sebastian, taking him to shelter. 

“We can’t leave him,” Fenris says as he plants his feet, holds his ground. 

“I - I never really _learned_. My healing is,” she frowns, clenching a bloodstained hand into a fist. “I know how to kill. Both of us do. We’d only be in the way.” 

“We can’t leave him,” Fenris says again, shaking his head. Hawke’s shoulders slump, closing the distance between them. Her arms wrap around him, taking a deep shuddering breath. Fenris is slow to return it, planting bloody handprints upon her back. 

“He’ll be okay,” she says in a way that tells Fenris she’s trying to convince herself. Only then does Fenris tighten his hold, squeeze her tighter. 

“I should have been faster. I knew this was a bad idea, I should have told them, I should have _made_ them listen to me,” Fenris says, his words half buried in her shoulder. “This walk was foolish. Too in the open. Too unguarded.” He pulls himself away from Hawke, the shadow descending over his brow, settling in the hard line of his mouth. 

“Where?” He snarls. The anger blossomed, Hawke nods, turns, and guides him to the lower dungeons. 

Guards surround a man on his knees, his head bowed and his hands tied behind his backs. They snap to attention as Hawke and Fenris enter. Veterans of the army, they address Hawke first. “He hasn’t spoken. He won’t respond to any of us,” they say. Hawke kneels down before the man, tilts his face upwards towards her with a finger. 

“Demon,” he spits at her. 

“Who sent you?” He clenches his jaw shut and does not speak. Hawke sighs, stands, moves out of Fenris’s way. He snarls as he lights the lyrium, a hand crushing on the man’s shoulder, the other worming its way inside his chest. The man gasps in panic as he looks at the hand inside his chest, fingers around his heart. 

“Who sent you?” Hawke asks. 

“The Crows,” the man yells in a panic. 

“Who paid for you?” 

“A lord named Lennox. If they failed with the palace - I was to kill the King.” 

“One final act out of spite,” Hawke spits. “Are there more of you? More Crows paid to kill the King?” 

“N-no. There are four paid for you, Champion.” Hawke’s back stiffens, goes straight, and Fenris looks at her, anger giving way to concern. Four. Four Crows. Who sends four Crows? The book. She let Anders go. She let him walk free, without a true punishment. Now everyone knows. If they couldn’t punish the mages, if they couldn’t punish Anders, they would punish Hawke. 

“When? When are they supposed to come?” 

“I don’t know! I just know that they are coming!” At that, Fenris flicks his wrist, pulls the heart from the man's chest. He lives just long enough to see it still beat in his palm. Then his eyes roll, and he slumps lifelessly to the ground. 

“Stay here,” Fenris immediately orders. He points at the other guards, the heart still in his hand. “Do not let her leave.” They take a collective gulp, begin to nod and agree wholeheartedly. He drops the heart to the ground beside the man, leaves the dungeon. Hawke stands there, the frown on her face, her hands shaking. 

Fenris takes the stairs by two, running towards Sebastian’s room. Guards flank every corner, every door, crowding outside of the room. “Let me inside,” Fenris growls, his gaze icy and cold. The door opens for him immediately. There are two healers by Sebastian’s bedside. He looks peaceful, his eyes closed, red hair against white pillows. His hands at his sides, tucked neatly underneath blankets. 

One of the healer’s looks up when he enters, gasps at Fenris’s blood-soaked appearance. “How is he?” Fenris asks, not daring to approach the bed. The healer swallows her fear in a gulp before she speaks. 

“He’ll live, sire. He needs rest.” The relief thunders in Fenris’s heart. He takes the sword from his back, rests it against the wall. Then Fenris joins it, leaning against stone, crossing his arms. The healers exchange a look, accept his presence and return to their work. 

Food and drink is brought to them, and Fenris never leaves the room over the next few days. The healer’s, accustomed to his presence, do insist on Fenris taking a bath after the second day. The water runs muddy red with dried blood that had encrusted on Fenris’s skin. He washes quickly, scrubbing hard at himself, before he’s back in his armor and watching over Sebastian. 

A guard reports to him daily on Hawke’s status. No sign of the Crows, but she is restless. She keeps herself in the dungeons, her staff always in her hands. Fenris knows that he cannot keep her there for much longer. She’ll want to leave, take matters into her own hands. She’ll get herself killed. Sebastian’s eyes have not yet opened. 

On the fifth day, they do. Slowly at first, blinking as if awakening from only a deep sleep. His hands move over his stomach, finds nothing save for bandages. He winces as he sits up, feeling the ache deep inside him. He may be unmarred, the magic thorough, but the pain still lingers. The healer’s leap to their feet immediately. “My King!” That is what gets Fenris’s attention, walking to the end of the bed. 

He smiles as he looks at Sebastian. “Welcome back,” he says. Sebastian snorts, shakes his head. 

“Tell me what happened.” 

Hawke lies in a cot, her hands folded over her belly. She stares at the dank ceiling, the stone that drips with moisture. The dungeons smell like shit. She probably smells the same, now. The rotation has begun, guards replacing guards, and they are all faces she recognizes. Not Crows. Not assassins. Her feet swing over the bed, land on the floor. Hay underneath her feet, dirt and mud. She’s still in her armor. She picks up her staff as she stands. 

She makes her way to the bars, leans her head against the metal. “Any news?” 

“The King has awoken, my Lady.” 

“What? When?” 

“Two days ago, I believe.” Her mouth gapes open. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’ve been asking every _single_ day.” The guards face colors. 

“We were instructed not to. Until today. You’re to wait until milord Fenris comes to see you.” Hawke pushes herself away from the bars. She paces in the dungeon, her staff dragging behind her. She wears a path in that hay, in the dirt, in the mud, frowning all the while. Fenris is with Sebastian. They would keep each other safe. The spell is easy enough to weave, no matter how unpracticed she is. The guards slump the ground, sleep overtaking them. She walks over them as she leaves the dungeons. 

“Why is almost everything you wear white?” Fenris asks as Sebastian laughs, pulling the tunic over his head. At least his pants are darker in color. Sebastian is still smiling as Fenris does up the buttons, brows furrowed in concentration. He looks up, startled, when Sebastian cups his face, presses a kiss to his forehead. Fenris scowls but the tip of his ears go red. 

“You shouldn’t do that when someone could see,” Fenris says. 

“I don’t see anyone else here,” Sebastian chuckles as he leans in again, catching Fenris’s lips. He’s resistant at first, but then Sebastian feels the smile and Fenris is kissing back in earnest. Hands that leave his buttons, travel his arms, settling on his back as Fenris dips in towards him. In a kiss, as in all things he does, he does it fiercely. Pulling at Sebastian’s bottom lip, his tongue insistent and searching, hands pressing tightly against him. 

He pulls away quickly, back of his hand against his mouth at the knocking at the door. A hurried and panicked noise, Sebastian sighs as he readjusts his shirt. “Come in!” He shouts, and immediately a breathless soldier bursts inside the room. 

“She’s gone, my Lord. The Lady Hawke. She’s been seen heading towards the stables,” he gasps out. “Tried to stop her but…” Sebastian is already pushing past him, a hand pressing where it still aches deep inside buried muscle. He races down stairs and corridors, Fenris close behind. They make it in time to see Hawke burst out of the stables on horseback, racing down the streets towards the gate. 

“A horse!” Sebastian barks at the startled stable hand, who directs him towards one of the stalls. 

“There’s only one prepared serrah,” the stable hand tells Fenris as Sebastian mounts the horse, reins tight in his hands. 

“Stay here,” Sebastian tells Fenris, “I’ll be back soon.” He looks like he might argue for a moment, but realizing time is not on their side, swallows it with a frown. Fenris steps back with a nod, watches as Sebastian makes chase after Hawke. 

She may have the head start, but Sebastian has the advantage of knowing Starkhaven. He’d never forgotten these streets, the alleys, all the secret ways in and around. He exits the city close behind Hawke, as she dashes through fields of flowers and grass. “Hawke!” She turns at his shout, urges her horse faster. She leads him on a winding chase, over hill and through trees, until Sebastian is finally able to catch her. They ride side by side, but while Sebastian is looking at her, she is looking away. 

“Hawke, enough!” 

“Go back,” she snaps, jerking the reins, forcing Sebastian to make quick adjustments to stay with her. If she will not stop… He reaches out, fist in her cloak, and drags her backward. They both go tumbling off their horses, white tunic stained green with grass, splashed with mud. Hawke is already trying to push up from the ground, but Sebastian is on her, pinning her beneath him. 

Hands catch wrists, struggling to catch his breath as he straddles her. “Go back Sebastian,” she tells him again. The horses, riderless and directionless, come to wandering stop nearby. She’s still struggling beneath him, glowering as she tries to escape his hold. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, pressing her wrists to the ground. 

“It’s better if you don’t know,” she says. 

“Why? Why are you doing this? Have we done something wrong? Whatever it is we can-” 

“Me! I’ve done something wrong,” Hawke says, looking away from him. “I’m the Champion of Kirkwall.” She makes a mockery of laughter, more pain than glee. “If it’s not the Chantry that hunts me, it’s the Crows. They’ll keep sending assassins.” 

“We’ll fight them together,” Sebastian says. 

“Sebastian, you almost _died_.” 

“We were taken unawares. We won’t be again,” he says. That same laugh again, and Sebastian’s grip loosens as Hawke goes slack, stops fighting. 

“You’re the bloody King. You shouldn’t be out here unprotected.” 

“I’m not,” he smiles, “I have you.” He shifts, moving to sit, palms in the dirt and the grass. Hawke slowly sits up beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. She wraps her arms around them, hugging her legs tightly. She’s bathed recently, something quick – her hair is still wet. She wears no armor, just something simple. The cloak is heavy and dark, meant to hide more than protect. She doesn’t have her staff. Sebastian reaches out, loosens one of her hands, and takes it in his. 

“Tell me.” His request is simple, but she struggles with the answer. Her hand shakes in his. 

“I’m known. I’ll always have enemies now. When they think of Kirkwall, they think of the Chantry. They think of mages and Templars fighting each other, of the war. They think of me. Someone is always going… _four_ Crows,” she says. Her forehead presses against her knees, and she takes a deep breath before turning to look at him. 

“I’ve already lost one family. You’re in danger because of me. If I leave, then the Crows will chase me. The Chantry will leave you be. I know they’ve been sending Seekers to you. If I leave, you’ll be safer.” She pauses, thinks for a moment, and then her face cracks. “I can’t lose you,” she half-whispers it, “you and Fenris. I can’t – because of _me_. Not again. I can’t, I can’t.” Her hand is shaking harder and the ocean overflows. 

“I was so frightened. I thought we’d lost you. T-then they wouldn’t tell me if you were okay. I know why. I know why F-Fenris told them not to tell me. I wanted to go to you, so badly. B-but if I did, they’d see me in the castle. They’d know where I was. If the Crows wanted to strike. Then you’d b-be in danger again. W-wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. They wouldn’t tell me if you were _okay_ ,” she sobs. “I thought you were _dead_.” 

“Oh Hawke. My Hawke,” Sebastian murmurs, leans closer to her, pulls her into his arms. He cries with her, it hurts too much to see her like this. They sit together on that hill, underneath a lone tree. Branches sway in the wind, the gentle rustle of leaves. The horses are more than happy to roam nearby, faces at the ground, rooting out anything good they can find. The Palace shines in the distance, past the farms and fields. 

Clouds drift, casting their shape upon the earth, passing lazily. It is bright but not blinding, caught safely underneath the shadow of the tree. Birds sing their song in the distance, bugs chirping out their work. The occasional beat of hooves upon the earth. Hawke’s muted breathing as she struggles to pull it all back in. “You are our family,” Sebastian says, “to both Fenris and I… the three of us belong together. Apart, we are less than ourselves. Weaker. Broken.” 

“It was agony, to have you so far apart while we conquered Starkhaven. Like having a limb cut off. Nothing seemed right. Not until you were back with us. The world seems brightest when we are together. Better.” He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “Please don’t leave us. I don’t think we could bear it,” he says. 

Her hands are wound in his tunic, and there’s a moment of silence before she answers. “I – I need to keep you safe,” she says. 

“You can do that best by staying with us. We keep each other safe,” he says. “Please stay.” She says nothing. He feels the nod, slow against him. He sighs, relieved, and squeezes her tightly. “My Hawke, my Hawke.” 

The ride back to the Palace, is slower, more relaxed. Fenris pushes himself away from the beam he was leaning against, looking at them as they approach. Hawke is silent, her eyes still red-rimmed, and she makes a quiet exit towards her room. Sebastian gives Fenris a smile, puts a hand on his shoulder. Hawke is the last one to Sebastian’s room that night, resting her staff against the nightstand before she crawls into bed. 

They do not speak about the events of the day. Sebastian kisses the nape of her neck. Fenris puts a hand on her face, soothing circles with his thumb. Kisses that spell relief, whisper love. They keep Hawke between them, their hands upon her, their bodies as close as they can manage. There’s reassurance in the closeness, an affirmation of the promise to stay. Together.

* * *

Sebastian’s stance is wide, feet planted on the ground, Hawke’s legs wrapped tight around his waist. Fingers bite underneath her thighs, his hands holding her tight. The stone is cool against her back, but Sebastian is warm as she clings to him, her hands at his shoulders, and his mouth at her neck. His hips thrust, and he rams his cock inside her again and again. She gasps against his ear, and her fingers bruise into skin. He tilts his face upward, his forehead beaded with sweat, and she is all too happy to oblige the kiss. 

They’ve found an abandoned corridor, one where no guards walk, and Hawke had lit the sole torch. It’s paltry light, but more than enough for them. Hawke’s mewling cries echo in the emptiness, all of Sebastian’s grunts and moans. Hawke’s breasts bounce with each thrust, a mixture of her wet and his pre-cum dripping to the floor below. “Marry me,” Sebastian breathes, murmuring the words into her mouth. 

“T-this is not exactly the m-most _romantic_ of proposals,” Hawke gasps, her face red, her legs tightening around him. 

“I can’t – I can’t wait any longer. Marry me Hawke,” he says again, capturing her lips in kiss after kiss, pulling her lip beneath his teeth, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. Her hand knits into his hair, pulling his head back. They look at each other for a few moments, rhythm unceasing, skin slapping against skin. 

“Yes,” she says at last, “yes. But you have to propose to Fenris too.” 

“I already have.” Catching him before he leaves the room. A single kiss. Tying a blue ribbon around his wrist, side by side with the red. 

Hawke’s arms wrap around his neck, her head knocking against his as Sebastian grinds his hips against her, burying himself deep. He calls her name as he comes, eyes squeezed closed, her cunt clenching around him in unbearable waves. He lowers her to the ground slowly, the both of them sitting against stone, wrapped up in each other. Hawke moves fast, pushing him to the ground, straddling him. Her hands wrap around his wrists, press them to the floor. 

“Ask me properly,” she says with a smile. Sebastian chuckles softly, smiles back at her. 

“I love you Hawke. Please, you would make me the happiest man if you would agree to be my wife. Marry me.” She leans down, kisses him gently, lips brushing against his. 

“King Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven, it would honor me most greatly to be your wife.” He moves swiftly, escaping her grasp to wrap an arm around her waist and flip her. Hawke lets out a delighted laugh as his face presses against hers, covering her in kisses. He sits with his legs crossed, Hawke in his lap. She reaches up, taps a finger against his nose. 

“Three. Three children. More than that and I’m killing you in your sleep,” she says. Sebastian laughs, and then nods. 

“Three it is.” 

“At least one has to be Fenris’s,” she says. 

“I’m telling you, as I told Fenris, all children you bear will be the heirs of Starkhaven. I will love them no matter what. Pointed ears or not,” he tells her quietly. She smiles at that, runs a finger along the line of his jaw, pinches at his chin. She leans forward, her eyes on him always, kisses him deeply. 

“Good,” she murmurs.

* * *

The first Crow comes for her three days later. Hawke sits on the edge of the bed as the maid enters the room, Sebastian still sleeping. She carries fresh towels, a knife wedged between them. Hawke catches the glint of metal out of the corner of her eye, bright underneath an unclouded sun. Her magic is swift, pinning the ‘maid’ against the wall. There’s magebane on the knife, an edge of green that hurts Hawke to be near. It’s Sebastian who rips it from the Crow’s grasp. Guards enter swiftly, brought by Hawke’s thunder, drag the Crow down to the cellars. She doesn’t stay there long. They send her head back to Antiva, along with the knife. 

The second Crow comes for her in the evening. He catches her in the corridor heading towards the kitchens, she cries out when the throwing knife hits the back of her leg. Magebane first, this time. The Crow is on her in an instant, she blocks the first strike of his dagger with her arm. Embedded in bone and flesh, she twists to catch his wrist. She twists it, pulls the dagger from him with her other hand. She sinks it deep into his neck, falling backwards with the dead crow on top of her. They send his hand back to Antiva. 

The third Crow sends others to do his bidding. Bodies slow, their eyes long clouded. A mage, a blood mage at that. He enthralls servants, an attacker at every turn. She stops eating for fear of an enthralled cook slipping poison in her food. She stops training for there are too many eyes in the barracks. She cowers in her room, Sebastian by her side. It takes Fenris two days to find the source, a cowering mouse of a thing hiding in the sewers. He freely cuts his wrists, uses blood to power him. No match for Fenris, who swiftly slices through him. They send his staff back to Antiva. 

“Wouldn’t you be so kind as to die for me?” The fourth Crow asks, a smile on her face. There’s a cleaver in her hands, blood stained upon her boots. “You’ve been causing quite a lot of trouble.” 

“Afraid I can’t,” Hawke says as she rises from her bath without any shame. She brushes wet locks away from her face, water dripping off of her as she leaves the tub to stand on tile. She draws fire to her fist, cocks her head at the assassin. The Crow laughs. 

“Shame. Although, that is what I thought you might say. I’ve no interest in dying either, Champion.” The Crow snaps her feet together, gives Hawke a low bow. “ _Molte vittorie a voi_.” She bends down on one knee, leaves the cleaver on the floor. Then she leaves, as quickly as she had come, unseen by the guards. They send the cleaver back to Antiva, and grant the Crow her freedom in the guise of death. 

The Crows send a letter. A truce of sorts. They will tell the Champion if another Crow has been paid to kill her. Thus far, there has only been silence. Sebastian marries Hawke on a sunny day, a crown of roses in her hair. It feels like home again. Merrill is tanned and smells more of sea salt, Isabela’s arm slung over her shoulders. Varric has dragged along a Seeker of all things, who frowns at all but swoons at the ceremony. Aveline and Donnic, hand in hand, wearing matching smiles. 

It’s the old days all over again, of loud laughing, long hours of drinking. Isabela still cheats at cards, Fenris still wins anyway. Merrill makes flowers bloom in the moonlight, Varric spins the tale of the Inquisitor. Aveline speaks of Kirkwall, how much the city has changed. Calmed. They talk together until the sun rises, and still they go on. It hurts when they leave, an ache as they go. Hawke, Sebastian and Fenris stand together. Stay together.

* * *

Fenris closes his eyes as Hawke hums, running her fingers through his hair. He sits cross legged on the ground, while she sits on a chair behind him. She pulls back lock after lock, winding them in her fingers, forming a neat braid in his hair. She ties it off with a small ribbon, pulls it over his shoulder. Then she leans forward, biting playfully at the tip of his ear as she wraps her arms around his neck. He leans back, a knee on either side of him, smiling as his hand touches her arm. She lets her head rest on his, still humming as she holds him tight. 

Together they watch as Sebastian chases after her, hunched over and arms out, with a wide smile of happiness. She lets out childish peals of laughter, trampling flowers as she goes. Muddy red hair, like her father. Fenris shifts, and Hawke leans back in the chair. He turns, kneeling before her, a hand passing over her swollen belly. A thumb brushes against his cheek as he smiles up at her, presses a kiss to where his child sleeps within her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus we come to the end. Thank you so much for reading! xoxo  
> You can always find me [at my tumblr. ](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello loves! Welcome to my OT3, haha. I hope you enjoy.  
> You're always welcome to [come and chat at my tumblr. ](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)Cheers!


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